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An Interpretative Study of "The Rime of the 

Ancient Mariner " Charlotte E. Chester, 1 9S 345 

At Sea Ellen Burroughs 345 

The New York College Settlement .... Ada S. Woolfolk 346 

The Children of the Kingdom Josephine P. Simrall 349 

Gregorio Maude By land Keller 350 

"Aunt Amy" Agnes L. Caldwell 355 

Sonnet S. B. 359 

The Countess of Albany Margarette Purington "359 

Yea, Verily Caroline Fitz Randolph 362 

Martha Loquitur S.,'94 363 

Suppose '96 365 

The Sous-Prefet in the Country D. E. A., '96 365 

Editorial 1 368 

The Free Press 370 

Exchanges 377 

Book Reviews 382 

Society Notes 383 

College Notes 385 

Alumn* Notes 387 

College Bulletin 389 

In Memoriam 390 

Marriages, Births, Deaths 390 

Entered in the Post-office at Wellesley, Mats., as second-class matter 



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Vol. II. WELLESLEY, APRIL 14, 1894. No. 7. 










The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors chosen- 
from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss M. G. Caldwell, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

\11 items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, will be 
received by Miss Sarah C. Weed, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All alumna news should be sent to Miss Maude R. Keller, Wellesley, Mass. 

Advertising business is conducted by Miss Florence M. Tobey, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Subscriptions to the Magazine and other business communications in all cases should be sent to Miss Helen 
R. Stahr, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Terms, 82.00 per year ; single copies 25 cents. 


IN poetry, as in every art, each masterpiece embodies some deep and fun- 
damental truth. While it is the very nature of poetic genius to clothe 
itself in artistic forms, yet beauty of form without depth of significance is 
never the creation of a true poet. 

The "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" lays undisputed claim to the rank 
of a masterpiece. Coleridge's literary career, though as brief and incomplete 
as it was brilliant, produced in this poem a work of almost supernatural 
power. Such power cannot lie in the dramatic action alone, strong and free 
though it is, nor in the startling vividness of description, nor in the mar- 
vellous perfection and harmony of the verse. Underlying the allegorical 
narration is a deeper meaning, which is the animating essence of its power. 


and which is worth earnest effort to interpret. The Mariner's tale is a bit of 
soul-history, dealing with the gravest problems of humanity, sin, suffering, 
death, salvation. 

The setting of the poem forms an impressive background by contrast: — 
The wedding guest, about to enter the marriage feast, is unwillingly detained 
and spellbound by the glittering eye of the seaman ; he is constrained to 
listen to a solemn tale, while the merry din of the banquet greets his ears. 

The Mariner tells of a memorable sea-voyage ; how his ship stood gallantly 
out to sea ami southward through the tropics, till a tremendous storm car- 
ried it away into the southern regions of ice. Into this dreary, lifeless 
region an albatross comes, and with its coming occurs the splitting of the 
ice by which the helpless ship is released. The superstitious mariners 
attribute their good luck to the coming of the bird, and enjoy its companion- 
ship as a bird of good omen, as they safely steer northward, until one day 
the Mariner kills it with his cross-bow. For a time after his act all goes 
well, but suddenly the breeze drops and the ship lies becalmed. During the 
hideous drought and plague which follow, his suffering and dying com- 
panions fix their eyes in speechless hatred upon the Mariner, about whose 
neck they have hung the albatross, for they believe that a vengeful spirit is 
following them because of his transgression. At length he sees the approach 
of a horrible skeleton-vessel, bearing two figures, Death and Life-in-Death, 
playing dice for the ship's crew. The crew one by one fall lifeless, leaving 

the Mariner 

"Alone, alone, all, all alone, 
Alone on a wide, wide sea." 

Amid this scene of death and corruption, his heart is for a time full of bit- 
terness and despair. At length a happy change takes place within him, 
-when even the slimy creatures about the vessel appear beautiful to him and 
ihe blesses them. With the spoken blessing the albatross falls from his 
neck, refreshing rain comes, the wind rises, the ship moves and speeds 
onward, until the Mariner finds himself calmly drifting into his own harbor 
once more. 

Throughout the tale the wind is a pervasive and important element. It 
has often been chosen as a fitting emblem of life by its extreme variety of 
aspect, by its invisible yet unmistakable power, and by its likeness to the 


breath we draw. It will be interesting to follow this symbolism as a guiding 
thread, as we study the meaning of the poem in detail. 

The Mariner's recital opens with the commencement of the voyage under 
a gentle wind and bright sunshine. Here is a typical description of pure 
and mirthful childhood, innocent because untried, buoyant and happy 
through ignorance of hardship. 

" Merrily did we drop 

Below the kirk, below the hill, 
Below the lighthouse top. 

" The sun came up upon the left; 
Out of the sea came he! 
And lie shone bright, and on the right 
Went down into the sea." 

These stanzas contain no mention of the favoring breeze, and in this they 
further suggest the careless unconsciousness of early youth. One is already 
well started on life's voyage before he begins to observe or question the 
forces that are speeding him onward. But a rude awakening soon comes to 
the young soul with a shock that tries his utmost strength. The description 
of the storm strikingly typifies the experience of an undisciplined and 
passionate youth when overtaken for the first time by a great trial or sorrow. 

" And now the storm-blast came, and he 
Was tyrannous and strong: 
He struck us with his o'ertaking wings, 
And chased us south along. 

" With sloping masts and dipping prow, 

As who pursued with yell and blow 
Still treads the shadow of his foe, 

And forward bends his head; 
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, 

And southward aye we fled." 

The " mist and snow " into which the blast drives the ship symbolize the 
intellectual doubt and spiritual suspense through which many an earnest 
soul passes. There is a time when the world goes " wondrous cold " ; when 
the gigantic forces of nature seem so stern and impenetrable, and the ten- 
dencies of the world seem so hopelessly in the direction of inevitable misery 
and sin, that materialism and fatalism fasten upon the soul with an icy 


clutch, arresting its progress even as the icebergs bind the ship in their 

embrace. What the soul craves, at such a time, is a token of a divine love 

as present and overruling amid all this dreariness. Such a token is typified 

by the coming of the albatross. 

" Through the fog it came; 

As if it had been a Christian soul, 
We hailed it in God's name." 

God's love sends cheer and relief to men's hearts by calling forth the 

exercise of their own out-going sympathy and love. In the giving the 

blessing comes. While the mariners welcomed and fed the bird, 

" The ice did split with a thunder fit; 
The helmsman steered us through!" 

Much cheer and pleasant fellowship are suggested by the next lines : 

"And a good south wind sprung up behind, 
The Albatross did follow, 
And every day, for food or play 
Came to the Mariner's hollo!" 

The coming of the south wind expresses an awakening of life such as love 
always brings. But it is not here such an awakening as transforms the life. 
It is rather that warmth and sunshine of happiness which is itself a severer 
test of character than the storm-blast of affliction or the facing of stern life- 
problems. Prosperity and delight too often cause one to forget whence they 
flow, and to indulge in careless selfishness as if everything were centering in 
one's self. This is the unguarded time of temptation and sin. How the 
heinousness of the Mariner's act is brought out as an anti-climax, rendered 
yet more startling by the ejaculation of the listener : — 

" ' God save thee, ancient Mariner, 

From the fiends that plague thee thus! — 
Why look'st thou so? ' — With my cross-bow 
I shot the Albatross." 

In the first canto of the poem we have traced a life through its testing 
times and its wilful sinning against the divine love. The next two cantos 
depict the consequences of the action in vivid colors. At first, life appears 
to go on nearly as before ; 

" The good south wind still blew behind," 

" no sweet bird did follow." 


His comrades, like a stricken conscience, upbraid the Mariner, and predict 

evil results. 

" Ah, wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 
That made the breeze to blow." 

But when the sun rises more clear than before, these monitors condone the 
crime, just as a troubled conscience becomes easy and hardened under 
apparent prosperity. 

" ' 'Twas right,' said they, ' such birds to slay, 
That bring the fog and mist.'" 

The sudden transition in the next two stanzas, from the fair breeze to the 
dead calm, forcibly signifies how closely the supreme elation that comes 
from seeming triumph in wrong doing is followed by the horror of death in 
the soul. 

" The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 
The furrow followed free " ; 

when suddenly 

" Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
'Twas sad as sad could be "; 

Nothing could more vividly portray the silent mockery and the vile cor- 
ruption of death, the natural outcome of sin, than this description of a 
becalmed sea : " the hot and copper sky," " the bloody sun," 

"No bigger than the moon " ; 
and the " silence of the sea," where the Mariner relates, 

" Day after day, day after day, 

We stuck, nor breath nor motion; 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

" Water, water, everywhere, 
Nor any drop to drink. 
The very deep did rot; O, Christ, 
That thi6 should ever be!" 

Notice that the ending of each canto has for its burden the shooting of the 

albatross. The first one closes with the sinful act. The second ends with 

the remorse of the guilty one. 

"Ah! well a day! what evil looks 
Had I from old and young! 


Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung." 

The mysterious horror of the spectre-bark with its ghastly crew, described 
in the third canto, almost baffles an attempt at interpretation. It represents 
the profound suspense of a soul hanging in the balance between spiritual 
life and death. The slow, breathless inevitableness of the approach of the 
phantom ship, while one can almost hear the heart-beats of the helpless 
waiting crew; the game of dice between Death and Life-in-Death, as if soul- 
destiny were a thing of chance ; the death of the Mariner's comrades ; all 
these, while they take so strong a hold upon the imagination, render the 
reader as mute as the Mariner represents himself to be. 

It is a relief to pass on to the fourth canto, for it finds the soul of the 
Mariner keenly alive, though that life is first evinced by suffering. It marks 
a wonderful transition from the agony of remorse to the tenderness and joy 
of love in the heart. 

" I closed my lids and kept them closed, 

And the balls like pulses beat, 
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky, 
Lay like a load on my weary eye, 

And the dead were at my feet." 

Here is only the helplessness of remorse. But as in the soft light of the 
moon the Mariner watches the water-el fs which had appeared so hideous to 
him under the copper sky, he feels the spirit of love springing up within 
him, making even these creatures seem beautiful to him. 

" O happy living things! no tongue 
Their beauty might declare ! 
A spring of love gushed from my heart, 
And I blessed them unaware." 

The entrance of the divine life into a soul is sure to reveal itself in a uni- 
versal love for God's creatures. Notice the unconsciousness of effort implied 
in the word " unaware." That love which is salvation springs up in the 
heart as a free and spontaneous gift from its divine source, when the heart 
has given it access. It is then that the soul can pray, and the load of guilt 
falls off. This is beautifully expressed by the closing stanzas of the canto, 
where the albatross is again mentioned, but this time with a note of joy. 


" The selfsame moment I could pray; 
And from my neck so free 
The Albatross fell off, and sank 
Like lead into the sea." 

The gentle, refreshing rain and the rising wind, as described in the open- 
ing of the fifth canto, are exceedingly suggestive of the awakening spiritual 
life, and the penitence which unfailingly accompanies that awakening. One 
can feel in the purifying and renewing elements of outward nature, a perfect 
type of those which produce a like change within. The following lines 
most beautifully express this : — 

" The coming wind did roar more loud, 
And the sails did sigh like sedge; 
And the rain poured down from one black cloud: 
The moon was at its edge." 

The little touch of the moonbeam is very real ; it is like the calm sweetness 

of forgiveness that is unfailingly felt, shining through the tears of repentance. 

Now listen to the sweet harmony of this hidden, mysterious life : — 

" Still the sails made on . . . 
A voice like of a hidden brook 

In the leafy month of June, 
That to the sleeping woods all night 

Singeth a quiet tune." 

It illustrates the childlikeness of the new life, recalling scenes of the earliest 
years. For it had been a long time since the Mariner had wandered through 
the "sleeping woods." To him, in this new ecstacy of living, the air seems 
full of glad music; sometimes he hears the skylark sing, 

" Sometimes all little birds that are." 

" And now it is an angel's song 
That makes the heavens be mute." 

We must notice, at this stage in the poem, the transition from the "roaring 
wind " to the gentle sailing of the vessel without a breeze. 

"We quietly sailed on, 
Yet never a breeze did breathe; 

Slowly and smoothly went the ship, 
Moved onward from beneath." 

The meaning of this change is suggested by the hint contained in the last 


line quoted, of a power both unseen and unheard. It is referred to more 
clearly in the next stanza : — 

" Nine fathom deep, . . . 
The spirit slid, and it was he 
That made the ship to go." 

The description suggests the unsearchableness, the deep mysteriousness of 
God's omnipresence. Invisible, unfathomable, he is past finding out. His 
power and love alone are felt. The wind is only the symbol of His power. 
The life that is hidden with God lives on quietly without need of any out- 
ward manifestation of its source, just as the ship is borne onward by this 
invisible spirit of the sea. Yet even to a soul thus relying upon God, 
comes many a testing time before his life-discipline is over. He is liable to 
undergo such a desperate encounter with his old enemy, sin, in some form 
or other, as is graphically symbolized by the sudden stopping of the ship at 

" The sun, right up above the mast, 

Had fixed her to the ocean; 
But in a moment she 'gan stir, 

With a short, uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her length 

With a short, uneasy motion." 

Nothing could better describe the struggle of a wavering soul. The " sudden 
bound" forward is like the leap that faith makes toward the Infinite 
Strength. Nor is the soul yet utterly free from pain and regret. Once 
more in the calm night-watch, the Mariner is forced to face the consequences 
of his sin. 

" 'Twas night, calm night; the moon was high; 
The dead men stood together. 

" The pang, the curse, with which they died 
Had never passed away: 
I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
Nor turn them up to pray." 

Yet, " The spell was snapped." The pain and fear are but deep shadows 
to render more joyous the blessed reality to come. 

" Soon there breathed a wind on me, 
Nor sound nor motion made." 


Sweeter than a mother's smile or kiss is the caress one feels in the stanza : — 

" It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears, 
Yet it felt like a welcoming." 

Precious is the home-coming of the homesick soul ; and 'tis possible only 
through the death of the divine, inspired in the inmost being. 

" Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 
Yet she sailed softly too. 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze, 
On me alone it blew." 
" Oh! dream of joy! . . . 

Is this mine own countree?" . . . 
" Oh, let me be awake, my God! 
Or let me sleep alway." 

Perhaps the complete entrance into the Spiritual will be the awakening 
from a present which is in comparison but a dream. Sure it is that, whether 
dream or not, the human soul must pass through this in order to learn that 
life is love, and love is life. 

Charlotte E. Chester, '93. 


So many eves the sun must sink within 
The westward plain of shoreless, homeless sea; 
So many morns, as if from heaven to heaven, 
From out the widening water in the east 
The sun must rise; so many summer days 
Full in the face of the unveiled sky, 
The ship must float, till even the strongest gull, 
Deserting, wheels to track a land-bound sail. 
So many days! Yet there shall come a day — 
Some golden holy August afternoon — 
When, tired of sea at eve and sea at morn, 
The sun shall droop like a contented child, 
And sleep among the cradling hills of home. 

Ellen Burroughs. 



SETTLEMENT life may have as many and as varied interpretations as it 
has workers, who have entered into it. For each individual it has a 
new revelation ; each worker must discover for herself the best methods and 
avenues for her activity, must find her own level of usefulness, and out of 
the abundance of her experiences must evolve for herself the principles 
that seemingly underlie the work. Beyond this there are no fixed methods, 
no unvarying principles; it is the work of personality upon personality, and 
as such is myriad-sided and without restrictions. More truly than in any 
other line of activity, does the power and influence of a settlement depend 
upon the power and influence of the individual residents ; and since the 
workers of a settlement are subject to such constant change, this is a con- 
sideration that must never be lost sight of, in estimating the possibilities of 
the work. It is a work that belongs to the solitudes of life, and has no 
affinity or fitness for press or platform, for in talking or writing of its methods 
of reaching the neighborhood, its chosen lines of activity, one is touching 
merely on external things, the outer garment of a settlement, underneath is 
always the pulsing, ardent life, the spirit of the movement, which is often so 
individual, so private, so intertwined with personal sorrows and joys, that 
any public record that is to go beyond external things grows impossible. It 
is truly a work that can be comprehended from the inside alone, and often, 
then, only as through a glass darkly. 

Each new settlement, as it is founded, must meet and solve the problems 
that present themselves in its own locality ; each one must evolve its own 
methods of surmounting the difficulties and gaining a hold upon the life of 
the neighborhood. Hence the lines of activity may differ largely under 
different conditions, and there is often little room for questioning what is 
the best or strongest thing to do, but only what is the possible thing. 

The neighborhood of the Rivington Street Settlement is a difficult one to 
deal with, and each year bids fair to increase its difficulties. When the 
settlement was established, there was a large element of Germans in the 
surrounding population, but during the last few years these have been in 
great part driven out before the influx of Russian and Polish Jews. The 


Jew, crushed by long oppression, rendered suspicious and grasping by a 
well-nigh fruitless struggle for existence, with little comprehension of the insti- 
tutions and doctrines of a free land, is capable of being reached only through 
the simplest, most painstaking methods. This has caused the activity of 
the settlement to find expression largely along the lines of simple personal 
friendship. The needs of the neighborhood demanded this primarily, and it 
is in this way that we believe the settlement does, and will always, find her 
best usefulness. To-day she stands as the centre of social life in a neighbor- 
hood where poverty and struggle were destroying the possibility of pure, 
helpful social intercourse, and she is the exponent of thoughtful, helpful, 
sympathetic friendship to many lives in which sympathy and friendship 
were never wanting, but whose opportunities for receiving or rendering 
wise service were destroyed by poverty and ignorance. 

This mother-settlement is still working along the lines chosen in those 
first days when settlement work in America was an experiment ; she is 
striving to extend her influence through club work. The success of this 
method of work is unquestionable ; it brings the settlement in contact with 
many of the neighbors, and allows her influence to extend over a wider field 
than would otherwise be possible, and at the same time, it leaves room for 
each worker to select and know most intimately the lives that she can touch 
with the greatest force, and to direct the work with individuals along the 
lines that seem wisest to her. 

The clubs aim to keep the boys in touch with current events, to arouse 
and foster in them an interest in all that has to do with the welfare of their 
city, and to furnish them with purer, more self-controlled social enjoyments 
than the neighborhood affords elsewhere. For the girls and women every 
effort is embraced to interest and instruct them in housewifely arts and in 
all that can bring refinement and a more wholesome atmosphere into their 
homes ; for we believe that much of the evil and the hardship of tenement- 
house life is due to the lack of training of the wives and mothers. 

The work with the children is carried on to a large extent, for it is 
through the education and training of these little ones, who are to be the 
future voters in our ward, and the future mothers in the tenement-house 
homes, that we can hope at all for the salvation of East New York. We 
try to fire the little Russian emigrant with patriotic love for the country to 


which he has come, and it is no difficult task, for his highest ambition is to 
be a true American, and this is always the land of his dreams, at first, and 
often his loyalty is not crushed or clouded, even by the filth and gloom and 
squalor of lower New York. Through song and story and precept, we strive 
to make our boys realize that they are a very part of the new world life, 
and that the welfare of their city and country is, in a measure, dependent 
upon them. When we organized them into a "Clean City League," and sent 
them through the tenement-house districts to distribute tracts appealing to 
the people to give personal care to the cleanliness of the houses and streets, 
their eagerness in the work proved that they had imbibed something of the 
spirit that should animate every true American citizen. 

The settlement has made all possible effort to put herself in touch with 
the existing institutions and interest of the community, believing that her 
best service to the neighborhood will be given through fostering and devel- 
oping the germs of good lying dormant there, rather than through the intro- 
duction of new material from the outside. Her co-operation with the public 
schools, through the teachers and principals, has been a most successful 
effort in this direction. During the winter, a club of teachers met every 
week in the settlement parlors. Part of the afternoon was spent in a social 
tea-drinking, part in the hearing of delightful courses of lectures on litera" 
ture and art. The friendly relation between the teachers and residents 
which grew out of this club, was often of valuable assistance in the settle- 
ment work, while for the teachers the intellectual enjoyment was a real 
inspiration and refreshment, after the too often dull, mechanical day's effort 
in the overcrowded schoolroom. 

This year of unusual distress demanded that much of the energy of the 
settlement should spend itself in the attempt to comprehend and meet in 
the most adequate way the problem of the unemployed. 

Living in the midst of the working-people, it was easy to predict very 
early in the fall the on-coming distress, and when it was upon us, we under- 
stood its full bitterness, so the settlement gladly co-operated with other 
organizations and individuals interested in planning and carrying on relief 
work through street-sweeping and tailor-shops. Though such work can 
never be above just criticism, though its weaknesses are self-evident, the 
effort for relief in New York was carefully planned and superintended, and 


the settlement feels that her share in the work has been most satisfactory, 
and will in after years broaden and increase her influence in many ways. It 
has demonstrated to labor organizations and unions that the settlement 
workers are not only willing, but ready, always, to spend their strength and 
influence in behalf of the laboring classes, that her interest and sympathy is 
with them, and that she stands, not for charity, but for justice and liberty. 
It is never easy for a settlement to point any definite outcome of the year's 
effort, for the results of the work are slow to manifest themselves, and any 
progress is made by almost imperceptible stages. But in this very fact lies 
the great hope for the future of the movement. Because the nature of the 
work demands that any change it produces must come along the lines of 
natural development, must be the result of a wholesome, unforced growth, 
it is possible to have faith in the permanency of the effect produced by set- 
tlement work, to believe that the change is not superficial, but is so unified 
with the life of the community and people, that there is no room to doubt 
its reality. 

Ada S. Woolfolk. 


We are His! cry the Children of the Kingdom, 
For we stand before His altars all the day, 
With uplifted eyes we search the far-away; 
With still folded hands^wejbow our heads to pray. 

Know ye not, oh, careless Children of the Kingdom, 
As ye walk upon your mountain summits high, 
With your glad eyes upward turned to God's blue sky, 
That your brothers down below in darkness lie? 

Know ye not, oh, heedless Children of the Kingdom, 
As ye lift your hearts to Heaven in peaceful prayer, 
That your words, which fall so softly on the air, 
Are deep drowned by cries of terror and despair? 

Know ye not, oh, thoughtless Children of the Kingdom, 
As ye plan the means and measures for the morrow, 
That in your Father's garden dark clouds lower, 
And His lilies droop their heads in shame and sorrow? 


Hear ye yot, oh, selfish Children of the Kingdom, 
As ye stand upon the mountain glad and free, 
That the keynote of the World's sad melody 
Is the hopelessness of utter misery? 

Hear ye not, oh, cruel Children of the Kingdom, 
How the World's great heart is throbbing with its woe; 
How the waves of trouble, surging to and fro, 
All the lowlands, far beneath you, overflow? 

If ye call yourselves the Children of the Kingdom, 
Leave your mountains for the lowly paths He sought; 
If ye would not make His love an empty thought 
Turn ye and learn the creed your Master taught. 

Josephine P. Simrall. 


IT was Guadaloupe Day in Old Mexico. When Gregorio entered 
the city, in the early morning, all had been fresh and bright. The 
houses by the way were in festal dress. Lace curtains draped the outside 
of the iron window-bars ; crucifixes were placed over doors, artificial wreaths 
and paper lanterns adorned bare spaces. The city streets were thronged 
with men and women eager to do honor to Mexico's patron saint. Venders 
of pulque, tortillas, mescal did a thriving business. 

Gregorio had passed in and out among the gaily dressed crowd until he 
reached the church in the "pueblo," the Indian settlement, where were the 
dances, relics of old Aztec ceremonies. He watched the dancers, waving 
huge feather fans, and shifting from one foot to the other in rhythmic 
motion, slowly circle round the many-colored pole, surmounted with its 
crown of flowers and crucifix. The music was weird and monotonous. 
The Indians went through all sorts of fantastic figures, weaving in and out. 
The boy, wearied at length, entered the church. And now the day was 
over, he was hurrying from the city gates. This was the day he had tried 
to comprehend when his grandfather, the sacristan of the old mountain 
church, had told him the story of the saint, Our Lady of Guadaloupe. 

As the days went by, Gregorio dreamed and hoped that he might have a 
vision of Our Beautiful Lady. This hope never entirely left him. At play 


with the children he sometimes forgot it, but when he turned back to the 
gray stone walls the idea returned. Part of the church was a fine old ruin, 
with two arches vaulting the nave, and to see her coming majestically and 
passing under these arches, was one of his most deeply cherished hopes. 
Sometimes he went through the underground passage with its damp cells, 
where the stone is worn by chains and, kneeling, pictured his Saint, stand- 
ing at the end of the passage, revealed by a halo of light. These dreams 
grew in the boy's soul as he watched the sun rise over the dark pines and 
set beyond the clear lake, or when he climbed the towers and looked into 
the valley that lay below. 

"What did Our Lady love?" and the old sacristan answered, "Clean 
hands and a pure heart." The boy pondered, his heart was pure. It was 
filled with an image of her and she was all purity and love. It was she who 
took care of all the country and protected his grandfather and him. 

In the neatly swept patio of the sacristan's house was a grotto to the 
Virgin, and Gregorio had so far shared his longing with the children that 
they played round this grotto in awed whispers, for Gregorio said she might 
appear there. 

The springtime came. One glad May morning the child awoke suddenly. 
There was a wonderful peal of music from the church. He hastened across 
the patio, entered the church, the music swelling until it fairly shook the 
old stone towers. Slowly, with his eyes fixed on the organ-loft, Gregorio 
crept toward the rugged stone, spiral stairway. The place was full of light. 
A shimmering rosy glow fell upon the organ, and there she was. Her face 
was upraised, her fair golden hair gleamed in the slanting beams of light. 
A blue robe fell from her shoulders to the floor. Her hands pressed the 
keys and they answered. The music was now deep, passionate, full of 
excitement, and now sweet, low, joyful. The air was laden with the 
strange, wonderful sound. To the boy's excited fancy, airy, singing shapes 
floated all about him — and her. The rosy light deepened and crimsoned 
as it fell through the dark old panes. " The miracle, the miracle ! " he 
cried. The music stopped, the beautiful head fell upon the keys and his 
strained ear caught the low-spoken words, " Mexico, Mexico, — you poor, 
poor country ! " Rapt, breathless, exhausted, he waited the vision to fade. 
Kneeling, he hid his face. Steps sounded on the stone stair and across the 


nave. When he rose the church was empty. He crept up into the place 
where she had been. Two white roses lay at his feet. It was where her 
tears had fallen, he said. In an ecstacy of joy and reverence he took them 
tenderly. He sank into the heavy oak arm-chair before the organ, his eyes 
fell on the open rubric with its great square notes. Here was the way into 
a new world, and he would learn the way. When he left the church the 
children saw him lay a rose in the grotto to the Virgin, but they forgot 
their wonted awe in their haste to tell him of the party that had just left 
the old monastery. " Look, there they were, even now, disappearing. 
They stopped to rest as they climbed the mountain." The children clamored 
for his attention. "See, the ladies had distributed pennies among them." 
Gregorio listened as one asleep and the children ran away. 

Years passed and the boy grew to young manhood. The organ-loft was 
his dear retreat. The old rubric was learned by heart. Often in the early 
morning the children were waked by the music in the church. "It is 
Gregorio again," and they turned away unheeding. He became more and 
more separated from his childhood's friends. He rarely joined them in their 
pet amusements. They looked at him strangely, turned to each other and 
said, "There is a bull-fight in the hacienda to-day, but Gregorio will not go 
with us. He never sees the bull-fights now. He says they are nasty, dis- 
gusting spectacles!" 

An old priest was Gregorio's friend. He taught the boy all he knew in 
books and music. At this time the church was cared for by a new sacristan. 
The grandfather was dead and Gregorio went down into the city and lived 
with the priest in the convent. The free life in the mountain was gone. 
The snowy mountain tops could be seen beyond the city gates, but the 
mists over the lake at nightfall, the haze that hung above the pines, the old 
monastery in the moonlight, all were part of that dear dream-life, when he 
had believed the beautiful tourist was a vision vouchsafed to him, of 
Mexico's saint. With unreasoning devotion he had lived in music. The 
wind among the pines, the ripple of waters, the singing of birds, entered 
into his inmost being and found expression when he shut himself up with 
the organ. Throughout his childhood Gregorio had earnestly believed that 
when Our Lady of Guadaloupe revealed herself to him she pointed out the 
life he was to follow. His love for music increased as he grew, music was his 


very life. But the days and months and years in the city brought a second 
revelation. He was rudely awakened from his dream world. The pink 
and blue and purple-tinted mountain-tops faded before the daily sights in 
the city streets. The old women in the market-place, squatting on the 
cobble-stones, with their peppers and nuts displayed on the ground, never 
failed to send him away with sorrow. The sordidness and gruesomeness of 
the city life would not let the sweet music grow in his soul. Day after day 
he entered the convent church and sat in silence before the great dumb 
organ. The vail of beauty had been rent, his own "soul's iris-bow" had 

As he sat one day in the corner of a high stone bench, near a fountain in 
the plaza, dreamily watching the distant hills, the longing and unrest of his 
soul was stilled. The cool splashing of the water and the flutter of wings 
in the treetops fell on his 'ear. The large, carelessly kept grove, too, was 
refreshing after the monotonous lime-washed walls and cobble-stones. 
Dark-eyed women came gliding down one of the paths toward the fountain; 
as they lifted their water-jars on their heads how graceful and beautiful they 
were, — but their bright-colored rebozos, falling back, revealed their ragged 
and scanty clothes. Two young women and a toddling child followed. It 
was easy, even for him, to see which was the mother, for what but mother- 
love could so light up the hopeless eyes and so soften the features when the 
baby stroked her hair. The dirty, wretched mother and her dirtier com- 
panion lighted their cigarettes and moved on. Then came a group of 
school-boys. How quiet they were, none of the freedom Gregorio had 
known was here. There was no running or jumping or scuffling. With 
listless, indifferent steps they crossed the flagging, and one by one stooped! 
to drink where the water trickled from a hole in the fountain. It seemed ai 
splendid chance for a grand " rough and tumble," but the city was subdued,, 
oppressed, passive, long-suffering, even to the children in the streets. Poor- 
Mexico ! 

Gregorio hastened back to the convent. He seated himself before the 
organ, pulled the stops, and poured forth his whole passion and desperate 
longing. Turning he saw some loose sheets ; mechanically he placed them 
on the music-rack. When he had read them through, involuntarily he 
echoed the cry he had heard in childhood, " O, Mexico, Mexico!" ft was 


the same music she had played, and this was the conclusion of her message. 
The empty days of his city life seemed lost. Here was a new motif. He 
turned and played again. People passing stopped. " It is Don Gregorio, 
henceforth lie is to play the Cathedral organ." An old man stranger entered 
the church and listened. 

Don Gregorio came to be well known throughout all the city streets. 
The children were merrier when with him ; the women looked more hope- 
ful ; men met with him frequently to lay schemes for Mexico's emancipation. 

Again it wasGuadaloupe Day, and how differently all the scenes impressed 
Gregorio now. How hollow and tawdry and vicious and degrading were 
the celebrations sanctioned by the Mexican people. As when a child, he 
moved in and out among the gay throng. Again he entered the church in 
the "pueblo," and watched the sun fall down through the arches in bright 
patches on the tile floor. The dull peal of the organ was in his ears and the 
sound of chanted litanies. Wearied and sad he left it all. When he entered 
his little room in the convent, there were waiting him two sealed communi- 
cations. One was from the stranger who had heard his music. It proposed 
that Don Gregorio leave Mexico, study a little longer, and then play the 
organ in one of the royal chapels of Europe. The thought of a return to 
his music world overpowered him. Mechanically he took up the second 
letter. It came from one of the men he had taught, and told of the princi- 
pal candidate in the coming election for governor of a small adjoining state. 
The character of the candidate was well known ; he was cruel and unprin- 
cipled, unjust, evil. The letter begged Gregorio to work to defeat the 
election. Struggle and conflict raged in the musician's soul until the Cathe- 
dral clock tolled midnight. The city gates were open and Gregorio fled 
through the narrow streets and out into the valley, then climbed toward his 
old mountain home. How beautiful his Mexico was! Tall eucal}'ptus trees 
swayed in the night wind, the mountains loomed in the distance, lofty, 
majestic, calm. There was little spontaneous life in this beautiful country, 
but its soul had yet to be awakened. 

The orange light of the morning was creeping over the gray-blue sky 
before he reached the old monastery. He crossed the garden all dewey and 
sweet with camellias and roses and lilies and the undergrowth of heliotrope 
and violets. He did not stop until he reached the organ-loft, sank into the 


great oak chair and sent peal after peal of broken melodies through the old 
church. The conflict in his soul was cruel. There had been the dream- 
world of music, then came the work-world of people, and this was lightened 
and cheered by his art. Now were they to separate? He could return to 
the world peopled with shapes of sound. 

Unconsciously he began to play the help-music of his life, the music played 
by his childhood's saint. It was Beethoven's Fifth Symphony and Gregorio's 
soul struggled with the struggling music. When the music stopped he 
cried, " Poor Mexico, my poor country — my music — and thee ! " 

Maude Ryland Keller. 

t ( A UNT TISH, tell me a story. I am so tired of wandering about this 

l\ great house with nothing to do." 

"Go 'long out o' dis kitchen, chile. I ain't got time fur no sto'ies." 

" Oh ! please, I am so lonesome." The speaker was a tall, dark girl whose 
every motion betrayed the restless, impulsive spirit caged within. She 
addressed a very black, smiling old negro woman, who bustled about an 
immaculate kitchen. 

Aunt Letitia, better known as "Aunt Tish," was one of the few servants 
who had remained with Dr. Grey's family after the negroes were freed. She 
had never lived anywhere else, and now, as she expressed it, she " warn't 
gwine 'way an' leave clem white chilen o' hern to git along de bes' way dey 
could," so, true, faithful old soul, she stayed on at the " big house," and 
reigned supreme over kitchen and dining-room. The whole family loved 
"Aunt Tish," but none, perhaps, so much as this restless, petted, beautiful 
child — for eighteen years had not made her more than a child — who now 
begged for a story to break the monotony of a long, winter afternoon. 

" Well, honey," the old woman began, as she adjusted her red bandanna 
on her head, and rolled her sleeves a little higher, " ef you's lonesome, I 
reckin I'll have to tell you one dis time. You jes' set down dere by de fiah, 
an' I'll tell you a sto'y while I mix up de dough fur de bisc'it. 

"'Foah de waah, you know, I wuz cook fur yo' gran'pa Grey ; an' yo' pa, 
an' Uncle George, an' Aunt Sarah, an' Aunt Amy, dey wuz all de bes', 


sweetes' white chilen I uver seed. Lord, I jes' love dera chilen, honey, 
same's I love you now, an' dey wuz powerful fon' o' me. Yo' Aunt Amy, 
you know, wuz de younges' of 'em, an' she wuz de pu.rties' gal. Look mos' 
like you do now, Miss Virginia. She wuz 'bout nineteen years ole when de 
waah broke out, I reckin, an' de mos' pop'lar gal in de country. Dey use' 
to hev de bes' times heah. Comp'ny all de time. It jes' kep' ole Tish busy 
a-cookin' an' a-makin' good t'ings fur dem boys an' gals. De ole po'ch use' 
to ring wid de singin' an' de laughin', an' 't 'pears like to me you could allers 
heah yo' Aunt Amy's voice jes' like sparklin' water. 

"Ev'y day, dey use' to take boss-back rides, an' de warn't nobody could 
beat Miss Amy ridin'. Ole Jedge Grey, he got her de purties' little black 
hoss, an' pears like it jes' suit her, wid her big, black, dancin' eyes, an' her 
rosy cheeks, an' her black, fluffy hair. All de young men use' to want to 
ride wid her; but she ain't carin' which one 'tis, jes' so she got her Beauty 
— dat what she call her black boss. 

"At night-times, dey all come back to de big house, an' dance, an' sing, 
an' set out in de yard under de trees. Dem wuz de bes' ole times, honey ! 
An' yo' Aunt Amy, jes' like you, on'y she laugh an' sing mo'. 

" Well, by'mby, a big, dark man tuk ter comin' heah a lot. Mr. Carter 
wuz his name. He t'ink mighty heap o' Miss Amy, an' bring her heap o' 
purty t'ings ; but ole Marse don' like Mr. Carter ; 'pears like he rubbed 'im 
de wrong way. 

" So, when de waah broke out, old Marse, he went off, co'se, an' Mr. Car, 
ter, he went, too. Ev'ry oncet in a while, he 'ud come back, an' Miss Amy 
she jes' chirk right up, an' look so purty ! When ole Marse 'ud come home 
an' find dat Mr. Carter heah, he jes' look dark, an' me an' Silas, we shakes 
our heads an' sez, ' De ain't no good in dat Carter man.' 

"One day, Miss Amy, she come out in de kitchen, an* her big eyes wuz 
all full o' teahs. 'Lor'! what's de mattah wid my purty chile?' sez I; an' 
she sez, her voice all shakin', ' Aunt Tish,' sez she, 'I want to tell you some- 
thin'. Papa tole me, las' night, he didn't like Jack,' — dat Carter man's 
name, you know — 'an' he sez he bin to town to fin' out what kin' o' man 
he is, an' he ain't de man he wants me to go wid. He sez he gambles,' she 
sez, her voice jes' tremblin', ' an' dat he's in debt.' 

"I jes' put my ahm roun' her neck, an' lay her head on my shoul'er, an' 



she cry like her little. heart mos' broke. I jes' say, 'Honey, yo' pa knows 
bes'. Ole Marse ain't' gwine do nothin' wrong, an' you jes' trus' him.' 

"She say she gwin^to trus' him. an' arter a while she gits quiet, an' goes 
back in de house. | 

"Not long arter dat, ole Marse come home one night, all mud an' dirt, 
an' ole Missis, she run out 'n de yard a-cryin'. Ole Marse, he tuk Missis, 
an' dey go in de house togedder. Arter a while, I see Marse an' Miss Amy 
goin' in de parlor. Arter a long time, Marse come out de house all clean 
'gain. He tuk yo' Aunt Sarah an' den yo' Aunt Amy in his ahms, an' kiss 
'em, an' den he tuk ole Missis, an' den he gits on his boss an' sez, ' Silas ' — 
Silas done ben a-holdin' de boss — ' Silas,' sez he, ' be good to 'em all. Don' 
you nuyer leave 'em ! ' An' he rode dashin' away, down de avenue. 

"Silas he come down to de kitchin, an' say, ' Tish, Marse's regiment' — 
ole Marse he wuz a cunnel den — ' Marse's regiment done ben ordered off 
frum heah. De Yankees is hot arter 'em ; an' old Marse lie come home fur 
to tell Missis.' 

"In a minute, Miss Amy come into de kitchin, jes' a-sobbin' an' a-sobbin'. 
She tell me how her pa tole 'em all good-by, an' den she sez, 'Aunt Tish, I 
promised 'im nuver to marry Jack widout his consent, an' he sez he gwine 
t'ink 'bout it, an' do his bes' to like 'im an' make a man uv 'im.' 

"Miss Virginia, I nuver see nobody cry an' carry on so, an' she say she 
don' want her ma to see her, caze it make her feel so bad. I said ev'yt'ing 
I knowed to pac'fy her, but 'twarn't no use. Arter a long time, she stopped 
cryin', an' went up in de house like my blessed chile, to comfoaht her ma. 

" We didn't sleep much dat night. All night, detachmunts, an' messen- 
gers, an' scouts wuz a-flyin' by, an' not fur from heah, you could see de 
smoke frum de Yankee encampmunt. It wuz awful. I nuver see Missis 
look so ole an' white. But arter a long time, de day come, an' we all tried 
to furgit t'ings by wu'kin' hard. Miss Amy she jes' kep' by her ma like she 
wuz her shader, an' she might 'a' ben a shader frum her looks. 

" 'Bout seven 'clock dat evenin', jes' as de dusk wuz cumin' on, Silas he 
come runnin' roun' to de kitchin, an' sez, 'Tish, come heah!' Dat all he 
sez, but Lor', I wuz skeered ! We run out, down de driveway a piecet, an' 
we see, yes, sir, we see a-comin' in de big gate a covered wagin, an' ole 
Roney wid Marse's saddle on him, walkin' 'long behin'. 'Good Lor', Silas,' 


sez I, ' it'll kill Missis.' ' No 'twon't,' sez Si, an' he tu'n rouu' an' walk up 
to tie house. 

" Miss Amy she come a-runnin' out to de fron' doah, an' I jes' th'ew my 
aprin up over my head an' cry like a baby. 

"Is it papa, Uncle Silas?" she sez, awful soft an' slow like. 

" ' Yes, Miss Amy,' sez Si. 

"She run in right quick. Dey tuk ole Marse out o' de wagin, an' Silas 
he he'p 'em ca'hy 'im into de parlor. I seen Miss Amy an' Miss Sarah come 
down de stairs wid ole Missis, an' I jes' run roun' to de kitchin, an' shet de 
doah, an' cry like my heart wuz broke. 

" Well, dem wuz the wust times I uver see. Dey wuz all jes' heart-broke, 
all my sweet chilen an' Missis, too. Dey buried ole Marse, an' not long 
arter, yo' pa come home to stay wid 'em all. He wuz too sick to stay in de 
ahmy any mo'; an' Miss Amy she jes' git whiter an' whiter; an' she nuver 
laugh an' sing no mo'. 'Pears like she wuz a purty flower, fadin' ez de 
autumn come on. 

"One day, 'bout a month arter ole Marse come home to stay allers, de 
doah-bell rung, an' ez mos' all de niggahs wuz gone den, I went up frura de 
kitchin to go to de doah, but young Marse done got dere fust, an' I heah 
'im step to de parlor doah an' say, ' Amy, Cap'n Cahter wishes ter see you,' 
mighty stiff-like. 

" Miss Amy she come out, white's a ghost. I nuver know why dat man 
don' come in, but Miss Amy she jes' sez, ' Mr. Cahter, I promised my father 
nuver ter marry you widout his consent, an' he can't nuver give it now.' 
She tu'n roun' an' th'ew her purty face in her little white ban's; an' dat 
han'some man — fur he wuz han'some — jes' sez, 'Noble woman, you'se 
wu'thy that brave father,' an' he tu'n roun' an' mount his boss. 

" I couldn't see my chile cry like dat, so I jes' picks her up in dese two 
ahms an' ca'hy her in to ole Missis, an' leave dem two togedder." 

A few chords from a piano sounded, and then a sweet voice rang out, 
coming even to the kitchen. And as "Aunt Amy " sang, the beautiful girl 
buried her face in her own white hands, and the faithful old slave, with her 
apron thrown over her head, rocked back and forth in her chair. 

Agnes L. Caldwell. 


Through star-lit nights and music's mystic dreams, 
In the sweet hreath of wan flowers, as they lie 
Surrendered meekly to the parched sky 
Of summer noons, a subtly sweet voice seems 
To speak to my mute soul and bid the beams 
Of beauty, stored from glorious hours past by, 
Shine forth to that dim world which would deny 
All hidden light, and silence dullness deems. 
When all out-reaching, eager for some way 
To loose the light imprisoned, throbs the soul, 
But baffled, half retreats, as backward roll 
The thwarted tides when at the full. Words fail, 
And music's woof I weave to no avail; 
In unskilled hands, clay is but formless clay. 

S. B. 

[By Vernon Lee. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1888.] 

ALTHOUGH the interesting and important events of the life of Louise, 
Countess of Albany, have long since been worn threadbare by historian 
and biographer, this little book of Vernon Lee's has a peculiar interest. It 
unites, as the author herself says, " the names and memories of a German 
princess, of an Italian poet, and of the last descendant of the most unfortu- 
nate kingly line of modern times." The book is of special value in that it 
throws light upon a vital part of the countess's history — upon a part which 
her other biographers have been content to pass by almost unnoticed — 
namely, her connection with Alfieri. Vernon Lee, during the years of her 
residence in Florence, had access not only to some valuable letters and 
papers of the Countess of Albany, but also to letters of Alfieri, hitherto 
unpublished. These documents afforded an insight into the character of 
both Alfieri and the countess, and added an important amount of detail 
before unattainable. The author has aimed, therefore, not so much to repeat 
in a new form facts already known, as to show, in a new light, the character 
of the Countess of Albany and her relations to Alfieri. As these opinions 
have never before appeared in print, a greater part of this review shall be 


devoted to an outline of the character of the countess as it is set forth in 
this new biography. 

We are introduced to Louise, Princess of Stolburg-Gedern, as a beautiful, 
high-born, worldly, thoughtless girl of twenty, just married by proxy to 
Charles Edward Stuart, the man known to history as the younger Pretender, 
and to society, in the eighteenth century, as the Count of Albany. With 
an image in her romantic mind of the brilliant, gallant, "bonny Prince 
Charlie" of "the 45," the princess had come in 1772 to Rome. Dazzled by 
the thought of her brilliant marriage, by the idea that she was " going to 
be queen," the convent-educated girl was wholly ignorant that she had been 
sold by her ambitious mother to a man who indeed called himself King of 
Great Britain, France and Ireland, but whose " royal-souled nature " had 
been blighted and made hideous by selfishness, dissipation, and indulgence 
in every kind of vice. How soon Charles Edward allowed her to see his 
true character, we do not know. Vernon Lee herself says, " It is quite 
impossible to tell the precise moment at which began what Horace Mann 
called ' the Countess of Albany's martyrdom/ No one can say when Louise 
d'Albany, hitherto apparently so childish, became a woman with the first 
terrible suspicion of the nature of her bondage. Certain it is that the count, 
two years after his marriage, had acquired, both in Florence and Rome, a 
dreadful notoriety for drunkenness and debauchery. We know that gross 
and violent language and even blows became a part of the life of the once 
happy, careless girl. 

But all accounts show her to have been virtuous and patient and faithful, 
a marvel in the corrupt Florence of the corrupt eighteenth century. Indeed, 
much as her subsequent life proved her to be a woman of the eighteenth 
century and not above it, Louise d'Albany was a woman rare at all times, 
but rarest in her own. From the indifferent, light-hearted girl, somewhat 
deficient in sensitiveness, she became, in the period of her wedded slavery, 
a woman of cold temperament, serious, solemn and intellectual. Safe in the 
routine of duty and consoled by her books and mathematical problems, 
almost indifferent, certainly virtuous, she led a passive existence by the 
side of her jealous, brutal, drunken husband, never envying, for an instant, 
other women their inane lovers, their unwholesome lives. Thus Vernon 
Lee, in the light of the newly discovered manuscripts, has conceived the 


character of Louise, Countess of Albany — a creature intellectual and vir- 
tuous but only half awake — wholly different from the other women of her 

Such a woman was well calculated to arouse, first the curiosity, then the 
interest, and last the love of such a man as Count Vittorio Alfieri. Morbid, 
pessimistic and egotistical, he was a man who, having passed a vacant, dreary 
childhood and spent his youth in shameful intrigues and passions for worth- 
less women, had awakened with an immoderate ambition to become famous. 
Vernon Lee calls " this attempt to liberate himself from the bonds of worldly 
vanity and unworthy lo\e," "the turning point in the life of Alfieri." And 
so it was. With his characteristic vanity he conceived the vague notion 
that he was born to arouse, through his literary works, his fellow country- 
men to his own contempt of sensual pleasure and his own hatred of political 
and religious servitude. At this time he became acquainted with the Count- 
ess of Albany, and realized in her a woman superior to the shameless, unfaith- 
ful wives and heartless, vain coquettes whom he had known. He saw in her 
one with whom he could discuss his literary ambitions — one from whom he 
could receive the sympathy and encouragement so necessary to his success 
— one to whom he could look as his ideal. This man, in the hey-day of his 
youth and energy and independence, Vernon Lee now contrasts with Charles 
Edward, "the degraded, jealous brute," and in this contrast finds an excuse, 
almost a reason, for Louise d'Albany's subsequent relations with Alfieri. 
The countess finds in Alfieri, as he in her, that satisfaction of her intellec- 
tual cravings, which in a nature and situation like hers must have been 
absolutely necessary. Thus this intellectual passion, this strange mixture 
of love and friendship, grew out of a necessity, a great want in the nature 
of each, and was as pure as it was incurable. 

During the months in which these feelings developed, the domestic rela- 
tion of the Countess and Count of Albany had been growing daily more 
unbearable to the tortured wife. They resulted finally in 1780 in her sepa- 
ration from her husband. The author takes particular pains here to empha- 
size the point that this separation was the result, not of the countess's love 
for Alfieri, but of the treatment she received at the hands of her husband. 
The countess fled to Rome, where she was received by her brother-in-law, 
Cardinal York. Alfieri, unable, it seems, to carry on his work without her 


influence, followed and continued to be in Rome as in Florence " her incom- 
parable friend (expression then in vogue)." 

The remainder of the sketch is taken up with a degree of detail concern- 
ing the countess's later years, her travels in company with Alfieri, and the 
friends'with whom she then corresponded. This cannot be considered vital 
to the main subject, except as it treats of her relations to Alfieri. In this 
connection it consists mainly of the narration of facts to uphold and empha- 
size the main idea of the book — namely, that the relation of Louise 
d'Alban}'- to Alfieri, although illegitimate, does not deserve the severe criti- 
cism hitherto received. 

Notwithstanding the newness and possible flaws in this opinion, it is in 
this book well supported. When the reader has pursued to the end this 
interesting biography of an interesting woman — when he has followed the 
development, as set forth in it, of the two strange characters so strangely 
connected — when he has seen how the two long-suppressed, solitary lives, 
with their contempt for all baser loves, were drawn irresistibly together, he 
will be ready to admit that Vernon Lee is right, — their connections were 
excusable, even justifiable. 

Margarette Purington. 


ONCE, in that vague " long ago," that may mean any time from the 
world's beginning to this very day, there lived a sage ; a man of wise 
mind, great heart, and pure soul. Many virtues and much learning were 
his, yet he was not perfectly happy, for he had a great longing to find and 
possess the long-sought Philosopher's Stone, that perfect gem which shines 
with the marvelous, mysterious light of Truth. This yearning for the won- 
derful stone grew stronger and stronger, until he could no longer resist it, 
and so he set out on a long and weary journey, through many lands and 
over great seas, searching always and everywhere for the fabled jewel that 
no eye has ever seen. 

One day, as the sage paused for an hour's rest on the summit of a high 
mountain, a little child came running to him, and threw down before him, 


a pebble, saying, " See ! It is for you." Then the child laughed and ran 
away through the wood. The sage snatched up the pebble, crying, "I have 
it ! It is the stone !" and he buried it in his bosom, and ran and leapt and 
shouted for very joy. For days he could do nothing but rejoice ; but he 
did not look at his treasure — he only kept putting his hand to his breast 
to find whether it were still there. When he had become more calm, he 
tremblingly took out the stone to look at it. It was white and clear and 
fair, but as he turned it over and over and examined it closely, he suddenly 
found a dark flaw, — tiny, to be sure, but unmistakably a flaw. Then he 
turned and flung the pebble as far as the strength of his arm could carry it, 
and he bowed his head, and once more began the search. 

For years he traveled on, patiently looking and asking and waiting, but 
that which he desired he did not find. Finally, he returned to his home, 
and, with the mad energy of despair, threw himself into a routine of hard 
and homely work. One night, when he had sunk into a deep sleep after a 
weary day's work, he had a dream so vivid that he remembered it forever. 
A tall and awful shape stood by him, and a deep, but strangely sweet voice 
said, "Art thou he that would see with mortal eye the Philosopher's Stone ? " 
Eagerly the sage answered, "I am he." Then the voice cried, "Look at the 
house of thine own soul ; the corner-stone of its hidden foundation is that 
thou seekest ! " 

Caroline Fitz Randolph. 


WELL, Lib, here's Silas Walker's weddin' in the Liberty paper. Seems 
queer to see a marriage-notice with his name in it, an' mine not there 
beside it, for Silas an' I was a-courtin' twenty years, Lib. For twent}' years 
he an' I went to singin'-school together reg'lar every winter, me in my red 
an' black "nubier" an' him in the red an' black tippet I knit him the first 
year. An' when the boys'd see Silas comin' in the door, they'd all sing out, 
" Here comes Marthy ! " an' sure 'nough, there I'd be at his heels ! 

Well, we kep' it up twenty years, him a-comin' to see me twicet a week 
reg'lar an' takin' me to church every Sunday ; an' every time he come we'd 


sorter talk things over, but somehow we never seemed to get no nearer. But 
one evenin' he come round — his reg'lar Wednesday evenin' — an' he was 
that slicked up ! Had on a new pink tie I'd never seen afore, an' he'd 
combed the hair over his bald place that careful, }'ou'd never 'a known there 
was any, if } r ou hadn't a-seen him — as I had many's the time — on hot 
daj's a-moppin' ihe shiny top of his head with his bandanner. Now, Silas 
is handsome, if I do say it that shouldn't ; an' that tie was mighty becomin' 
to his rosy complexion. The minute I saw him come in the door, my heart 
gave a big thump, an' says I to myself, "It's a-comin' ! " 

" Pleasant evenin', Marthy," says 'e. " How are you, Marthy ? You're 
lookin' right spry to-night," says 'e ; an' with that he pulled a quart bag o' 
peanuts out of his coat pocket. He'd never done such a thing before in all 
the twenty years. He pulled his chair over, an' even went that far as to 
offer to shell my peanuts for me. But I knowed as that was more'n Silas 
could 'a stood, an' so I shelled hisen instead. Pretty soon he begun : 

" Marthy, I've got somethin' to ask you." 

" What is it, Silas? " saj'S I ; an' my hand shook as I turned out a peanut. 

"Marthy, you know Joe Bascom left his widow a tidy bit of property?" 

"What's Mary Bascom got to do with it?" thinks I. 

"Marthy, I can have the widow an' the property, if I say the word. An' 
I jest wanted t'ask you if you'd bring a breach of promise suit if I took her." 

You could 'a knocked me down with a feather ! But I wasn't goin' to let 
him know, an' I up an' says : 

" Breach o' promise suit? No ! An' I wish Mary Bascom joy o' her bar- 
gain, Silas Walker ! " 

He looked at me like a great fool of a man, not knowin' what to do or 
think. " Thank you, Marthy," says 'e, an' he took his cap an' the bag half 
full o' peanuts, an' went out. 

An' forty years o' my life are gone. But, Lib, I don't know as I wonder 
at Mary Bascom : Silas has a powerful fetchin' way with him, if he is a 
mite close. S., '94. 



A soft cloud is drifting away in the night, 
Drifting away in the pale starlight; 
With the gentle moon to smile on me, 
And the glimmer of stars for company, 
Wrapped in the downy folds to lie, 
With the Night-wind to kiss me a soft lullaby, 
Answer me, is there a sweeter bliss 
Than this? 

But what if the storm-winds should arise 
As I drift with the cloud thro' the starlit skies; 
And the moon should hide, and the stars go in, 
And with tear-drops big should the rain begin ; 
I cannot but think that I might weep too, 
As my soft, downy quilt to a wet sheet grew; 
And I might be dropped in a big thorn tree, 
Ah me! 


[A Translation.] 

MONSIEUR le SOUS-PREFET is just starting out on his rounds. With 
his coachman sitting in front and his lackey behind, his carriage rolls 
majestically to the fair in the country of Combe-aux-Fees. He has put on, 
for so important a journey, his best hat, his breeches fastened with bands of 
silver, and his sword inlaid with pearl. On his knees lies open a great port- 
folio of embossed leather, which he broods over sadly. 

Monsieur le Sous-prdfet broods sadly over his portfolio of embossed leather ; 
he thinks of the weighty address he must soon speak before the people of 
Combe-aux-Fe'es. " Dear friends and fellow-citizens," — but in vain he twirls 
his silky, blonde moustache, and repeats twenty times over, " Dear friends 
and fellow-citizens," — the rest of his address does not come. 

The rest of his address will not come. It grows very warm in the car- 
riage. As far as the eye can reach, the road to Coinbe-aux-F^es stretches, 
white with dust, under the hot rays of the mid-day sun. The air becomes 
very close, and from the elms that border the road millions of grasshoppers 


call to one another. Suddenly Monsieur le Sous-prefet starts. There, at 
the foot of the hill, he sees a small cluster of green oaks that seems to beckon 
to him. 

The little wood of green oaks seems to beckon to him : " Come down here, 
Monsieur le Sous-prefet, to write your address. It will be cool and pleasant 
under my trees." Monsieur le Sous-prefet yields; he tells his attendants to 
wait while he finishes his work in the little wood of green oaks. 

In this little wood of green oaks are birds and violets, and springs under 
the fine grass. When they see Monsieur le Sous-prefet with his beautiful 
coat and his portfolio of embossed leather, the birds are frightened and cease 
their singing, the springs stop babbling and lie quite still, and the timid vio- 
lets hide under the green turf. For this little world has never before seen 
him, and they ask each other in low voices who this fine gentleman is who 
wears breeches with bands of silver. 

In low voices among the leaves, they ask who he could be who wears 
breeches with bands of silver. And now Monsieur le Sous-prefet, pleased 
with the silence and freshness of the wood, lifts his coat, places his hat on 
the grass,and sits down on the soft moss at the roots of a young oak. Then 
he spreads open on his knees his great portfolio of embossed leather, and 
takes out a large sheet of his official paper. " He is an artist," says the lin- 
net. " No," says the blackbird, " he cannot be an artist who wears breeches 
with bands of silver; he is surely a prince." 


" He is surely a prince," sa} r s the blackbird. "Neither an artist nor a 
prince," interrupts an old nightingale who has sung all the season in the 
garden of the Sous-prefecture, " he is a Sous-prefet, he is a Sous-prefet!" 
"How bald he is ! " exclaimed a lark with a great tuft on his head. And the 
violets ask, " Is he bad ? " 

"Is he bad?" ask the timid violets. The old nightingale answers, "Not 
at all ! " So, reassured, the birds begin to sing again, the springs to bubble 
up, and the violets to send forth their fragrance just as if he were not there. 
Unmoved in the midst of all these sweet sounds, Monsieur le Sous-prefet 
invokes in his heart the muse of agricultural fairs, and flourishing his pen- 
cil, begins in a ceremonious voice: "Dear friends and fellow-citizens, — " 


'•Dear friends and fellow-citizens, — " begins Monsieur le Sous-prefet, in his 
ceremonious voice. A burst of laughter interrupts him. He turns around 
in its direction, but does not notice a large woodpecker that, perched on 
his hat, is watching him with much amusement. Monsieur le Sous-prefet 
shrugs his shoulders and attempts to continue his address. But the wood- 
pecker interrupts him again, and cries out, " What is the use ? " " What is 
the use?" exclaims Monsieur le Sous-prefet, flushing up; and driving away 
with a wave of his hand the offending bird, he again commences, "Dear 
friends and fellow-citizens." 

" Dear friends and fellow-citizens," repeats Monsieur le Sous-prefet. But 
now the timid violets come to him, and stand on the tips of their stems and 
say, sweetly, "Smell of us; smell how fragrant we are." And the springs 
trickling over the soft moss make enchanting music, and in the branches of 
the trees overhead the linnet warbles his best. And all in the wood con- 
spire to keep him from composing his address. 

All in the little wood conspire to keep him from composing his address. 
Monsieur le Sous-prefet, intoxicated with perfumes and music, tries in vain 
to resist this new charm which steals over him. He stretches out on the 
grass, throws open his coat, mutters again, two or three times, "Dear 
friends and fellow-citizens. Dear friends and fel — . Dear friends and — " 
but he never comes to the "fellow-citizens," and the muse of agricultural 
fairs is left to veil its face. 

Veil thy face, O muse of agricultural fairs ! At the end of an hour, the 
attendants of Monsieur le Sous-prefet, worried about their master, come 
down into the little wood, and they see something that makes them start 
with amazement. For their master lies stretched on the grass, his cravat 
off, his hair dishevelled ; he has thrown off his coat, and with the violets 
between his lips, Monsieur le Sous-prefet lies writing poetry. 

D. E. A., '96. 



WE, the '95 editorial board of the Wellesley Magazine, being of an 
appreciative mind, in perfect realization of the worth and responsi- 
bility of the bequest that has fallen to us, and in possession of all our right- 
ful legacy, do hereby wish to express to the editorial board of '94 the over- 
whelming sense of gratitude evoked by their good-will. And since our 
gratitude is of that nature which finds in action its truest expression, we 
purpose, as regards the bequest that has fallen to us, to dispose of it as fol- 
lows : To preserve intact to ourselves and to our heirs forever, that corner 
of the corridor on the fourth floor, containing a chest of drawers, a lock-box 
and key, a table, and an inscription of antiquarian value, "The Office of 
the Wellesley Prelude," all of which shall be displayed as a curiosity ; to 
petition the elocution department to cultivate resonance softly and 
practise liberation gently, in order that the sacred dust and cobwebs 
entrusted to our keeping in the closet in Elocution Hall may not be 
disturbed; to endeavor to conduct the Magazine in a manner worthy 
of our predecessors, the board of '94 ; as for the printer, to deal with him 
kindly, but firmly ; to collect tenderly the MSS. from aspiring Ninety-fives, 
label them carefully with their class rank, erect over them, "Buried Hopes," 
or some equally touching and appropriate inscription, and consign them 
with the dust and cobwebs to the fastness of the closet in Elocution Hall. 

Concerning the rules proffered for our safe guidance through the vicissi- 
tudes of magazine life, in view of the valuable matter therein contained, we 
purpose as a board, 

(1) To insure the safe preservation of the "Rules of Conduct " to all 
future boards of the Magazine in a manner which shall seem most com- 
mendable to the present board. 

(2) To see that each member of the board is provided with a framed copy 
of the same. 

(3) To peruse them often and thoughtfully, with the intent to thoroughly 
master their contents. 

(4) To follow faithfully our best understanding of them. 


(5) To attribute whatever success may be ours to their guidance. 
All of which we purpose with a keen appreciation of the value of the 
legacy bequeathed, and a desire to use it to the best advantage. 

The Editorial Board of '95. 


IN the midst of the endless rush and hurry of our indoor college life, we 
too often forget or neglect to appreciate the out-door charm of this 
little Wellesley world of ours. We do not remember that he who would 
seek and find out nature's secrets must be quick to perceive and ready to 
appreciate her revelations. 

This spring Wellesley 's treasures have begun to reveal themselves 
unusually early, as if every little blade of grass, every violet and crocus 
knew that Easter was at hand and hastened to add its little store of happi- 
ness to the happy time. 

The lake threw off its bonds of ice to smile on us before we started away 
for our holidays, and the robin hurried north to send us on our way with a 
joyous song. 

And now, when we return, the campus shows a brighter green and the 
lake sparkles in delight as Wellesley 's daughters throng back through her 
welcoming halls. 

"All hail to the college beautiful," sings every loyal heart. 


WE have lately been reading a dainty little book on Americanized DeF- 
sarte Culture, which gives a true explanation of this system of physical 
culture, so widely misunderstood and so generally ridiculed. 

The entire treatise cannot fail to interest any one, but one chapter, the 
sixth, entitled Relaxation, Receptivity, Recuperation, seems especially fitted 
for the instruction of college girls. 

It dwells on the injurious effect of nervous tension and shows how people 
overwork themselves unnecessarily by expending so much force in whatever 
they do, until pleasures and play, as well as study and work, become matters 
requiring great effort and outlay of strength. 


It also bids its readers consider the amount of nerve energy wasted by 
being "frittered away in little purposeless movements." Tapping the foot, 
working the fingers as if practising scales on a piano, these are only a few 
of the many wasteful movements which we ma}' observe if we look around 
in our college library at the girls studying and reading there. 

Let every girl who realizes that she has none too much nerve-force for 
her work, consider if she is not unnecessarily parting with a share of her 
precious possession. 


THE Magazine hereby offers its May pages to each and every student 
who has had such an enjoj^able vacation that she has leturned with a 
longing in her heart to share its pleasures with her fellow-students. 

£0e §ree (press. 

As Wellesley students, we cannot afford to leave college, either in the midst of 
the term or at the end of the year, nervously exhausted. We are forgetting that 
woman's education is not entirely on the firm basis we unconsciously attribute to 
it; much that we, as college students, are taking as a matter of expedient justice 
is still grudgingly given by skeptical critics. Friends seem surprised that physi- 
cal weakness and mental strength do not appear together, while writers in 
Woman's Columns still speak of "the four branches sufficient for a healthful 
absorption of any girl of average mental capacity," and that substitutions rather 
than additions should be made if due regard is given to physical welfare. Do we 
realize that there is a responsibility on the present college woman as there was a 
responsibility on the first college woman, to lessen the many hindrances that are 
yet given to her deeper and more thorough intellectual development? We owe it 
as much to the coming college student as to ourselves that academic work is 
compatible with health. But was it altogether the spring weather that made the 
April vacation an absolute necessity ? It is a problem worth the solution : is it the 
college atmosphere or the students that are at fault? Both, perhaps; the student 
side is the hardest of analysis, it is too much a part of ourselves, but there are 
three causes worth considering. 



First of all, this is Wellesley College, and not Wellesley High School. Col- 
lege life demands college methods. Greek is not so many pages of translation to 
be finished before 10.55, nor ' s an occasional neglect of minor points a matter for 
serious stings of conscience. We are not passive recipients. Surely the college 
girl knows what college life holds for her — what she must render to the college 
life. " I have made of myself all that can be made of the stuff." If it prove 
calico, what of that? " I have made of myself all that can be made of the stuff." 
Again, in many cases perspective is wrong. With vacation has come the oppor- 
tunity for the consideration of matters of relative importance. The word ''rela- 
tive" should be emphasized. There is too much of the pushing, driving power 
which, once begun, continues without reason, as hard to check as to start. Ideals 
and standards of scholarship should be high, but incessant application only hides an 
ideal. "That innate conscientiousness of the feminine mind" is as much a vice 
as a virtue; it is a conscientiousness that often forgets the salient points in the 
search for the microscopical. 

All this could be remedied by the student ; there is another cause that lies 
beyond our control. Is it necessary to spend the last week of the school term in 
written reviews and period examinations? As students, we would write only 
satisfactory papers, but consider the disadvantages under which we work : a hard 
term's work behind us, the excitement that surrounds the coming of trunks and 
the purchase of tickets, and the tenseness that is inevitably associated with written 
reviews. Under such conditions, we cannot do written work satisfactory either 
to ourselves or to the professors. As it is, it is only an additional strain. Vaca- 
tion should be something more than a doctor's prescription. 

E. H. Y., '96. 


Why is it that the very last day of a term is invariably selected by our instruct- 
ors for their most searching quizzes, their most deadly written reviews, their 
longest assignments and sternest admonitions? That last day, of all days, when, 
beginning to feel the natural reaction of months of steady work, the student rinds it 
all she can do to pack her trunk, attend to the numerous important details incident 
upon departure from the college, perform her domestic work, and be present at 
chapel and four recitations. How much less anxiety and nervous strain there 
would be, were the quiz, the review, and the long assignment things of yester- 
day, and a programme of lectures and general discussions the order for that last 
day! Under such conditions the stern admonitions would not be needed. It 


seems as if the term's work might be planned so as to admit such a Fi?iale, and 
if the same principle were extended to cover the first day of the new term, the stu- 
dent's cup of gratitude would be so full, that she would do extra work sometimes 
without grumbling. A little matter, perhaps, — the mitigation of that last day's 
rush, but upon just such little matters depend health and mental vigor, and that 
philosophic calm which is hard enough to cultivate under any circumstances. 


YYellesley seems to the first-year student living in the village, to be peculiarly 
out of touch with the rest of the world. In this article, one such student will try 
to give some of her experience and observation which leads her to believe that 
the college really is out of touch with the rest of the world. The phase of Welles- 
ley life considered must be, of course, village life, the only one within the 
writer's ken. 

The village student comes here hoping greatly to broaden her intellectual hori- 
zon. Fifteen miles from Boston, no farther from Cambridge — what place could 
be better for a provincial student than Wellesley? Within a month or two after 
her arrival, however, the outlook has changed. Boston has become, as far as 
she is concerned, little more than a shopping-place — Cambridge a sort of con- 
temporary myth. When she goes home at Christmas, she finds herself behind- 
hand in information about current events. This fact she explains by saying that 
the calm secludedness of Wellesley makes it difficult to care about reading the 
papers, even if one has time. When, from time to time, she hears prominent 
men speak at the college, they do not seem to her to be of the world in which she 
is living and studying. Their lectures are like apples dropping by happy accident 
from a stranger garden into ours. 

That " the Hub," with all its meaning, should be comparatively insignificant to 
the village student, that she should feel so little stimulus to keep abreast of events, 
and that she should be conscious of no vital connection between the Wellesley 
world and the larger world of progressive thought — indicates that the college is 
not in genuine touch with the larger world. There are probably scores of indi- 
vidual students fully awake to outside life; but the general tone is not lively 
enough to broaden the interests of the village student. Look, for an instant, at 
Radcliffe girls. To them. Cambridge teems with great thinkers. Boston is com- 
plementary to Cambridge, not primarily a shopping-place, but the centre of a 
delightful and inspiring life. Radcliffe girls take in as wide a range of subjects 
of general interest in one week as Wellesley village girls do in two — and see as 


much of men of the day in one month as Wellesley girls do in nine. But Rad- 
cliffe girls also live in the village, and have no college life proper. It cannot be, 
then, their exclusion from the college buildings, which so narrows the interests 
of the Wellesley village students. It is, rather, a lack of stimulus in the pervad- 
ing atmosphere. It is because Radcliffe is in vital union with men and affairs, 
that the students are inspired to live a larger life. If Wellesley were in such 
vital union, our students also would be so inspired. Our fifteen miles' distance 
from Boston would not prevent our getting a vast deal more good from the city 
than we do. In short, if there were a something in the air which should whet 
our appetites for a larger mental food, we should surely find that food. For it 
does lie within reach. 

As a matter of fact, however, village atmosphere is largely one of apathy toward 
most of the world south of Hunnewell's, east of Grove Street, west of Pond Road, 
and north of the station — an atmosphere of content with a mental diet of fifteen 
appointments a week and the conversation of thirty fellow-students of one's own 
calibre. The majority of first-year village students, coming back to Wellesley 
after the Christmas holidays, feel that, instead of returning to a richer contact 
with thought and events, they are letting go the hand of the world's activity until 
the next vacation. M. G. H. 


One custom here at Wellesley has developed into a nuisance. That is the habit 
*' we girls " have of effectually blocking our large post-office. Of course, it is 
pleasant to stand and watch for the much desired letter; but if one should stop 
to think for a momei t, one would see how selfish it is. Necessarily there are two 
lines of girls in the office, one of those coming in, and one of those going out. 
This is all that the limited space of the office will permit. So if a line of girls is 
formed against the wall, it is almost impossible for other girls to go in and out. 
I happen to be one of the unfortunates whose box is under the shelf at the further 
end of the office; therefore I speak from experience. When one has wedged her 
way from the door to the other end, she might think that the worst is over, but 
such is not the case. Her way is blocked by girls leaning against the shelf and 
girls leaning against the boxes. It is rather surprising that when a girl is politely 
asked to move so that a certain box may be seen, to have her look as if the ques- 
tion was very impudent. Can it be that the custom of inhabiting the post-office 
during mail time gives girls the idea that outsiders are not allowed? 

Then, too, why is it necessary to open and read the letter on the way out? It 
will not fly away while we are going out; if our eyes are on our letter we cannot 


see where we are going, and so we bump serenely into others, and tread upon 
their toes. Now, girls may be proverbially good-natured, but they do not like to 
be bumped into, nor do they like to have their feet trodden upon. A little 
thoughtfulness and care on the part of each girl would put a stop to the annoying 
jam and crush of mail time in the post-office. 

F. E. H., '95. 


On Tuesday, March 20, a hasty meeting was called in room C of all those 
interested in tennis. This question was put to us: Shall the courts and tennis 
equipment? be placed under the control and direction of the Athletic Association? 
To which I answer most emphatically, No. 

I wonder if there are any among us who begin to think that there is too much 
science in our recreation, that our games and fun can hardly be called play 
because of the amount of work and worry we put into them. For the crew it is 
right enough ; we wish to have good crews and a scientific stroke. For basket- 
ball, I suppose it is all right; but, honestly, do we not begin to look back with 
regret upon those days in the fall when we played for " fun " and not for "busi- 
ness," when we learned by experience and fought our battles, unscientifically, 
perhaps, but bravely and, above all, enthusiastically, unhampered by science. 
Shall we not, then, keep the tennis-courts for true, free playgrounds? 

First, think of the absurdity of trying to teach tennis by science, and selecting 
the strongest girls for those who shall represent the classes. We who have 
played much know that it takes some years to handle a racket familiarly enough 
to think of scientific rules. It cannot be taught as basket-ball, but comes only by 
practice ; and by the time one plays well he has virtually made his own rules, for 
each handles the racket differently, according to his strength and flexibility. 
Each one teaches himself better than any one can teach him. 

Next, shall all the game be reserved for those who are paragons of physical 
perfection? Shall not some game be saved, some nursery hospital be laid aside 
for us whose weak frames cannot endure the play of our heartier neighbors? 
There are probably many among us who, in spite of serious physical defects (not 
suspected before entrance to Wellesley), have played tennis many years and, 
indeed, managed to become quite expert, and live to tell of it. To these — of 
whom I am one — I appeal more especially. Is this not a case of" where igno- 
rance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise " ? We wish to play this spring, to hold our 
tournament, to be allowed a share in the sport. But if the tennis-courts be 


placed under the control of the Athletic Association, there is a great risk of many 
of us not playing at all. Our nerves may not be able to endure the strain. And, 
you who are paragons of health, would it not be fairer to us to make the courts a 
common source of enjoyment; would it be kind to rob us of this, our one refuge 
left for the good of exercise and fun of contest ? For, indeed, some of us, enrolled 
on the hospital list, stand a fair chance of winning a set or two. 

So let us keep the courts free from jealousy and ill-feeling, free from scientific 
rules, free from the Athletic Association. 

D. E. A., '96. 


Wellesley has an unusually fine library ! We all realize the fact, and are very 
proud of it. In most cases it takes some time to appreciate this part of our 
college, for at the end of the first year we usually have only a vague idea of the 
library. But as more research is required in various subjects, we begin to see 
the possibilities for pleasure and instruction on these well-stocked shelves, and 
we begin to love it for itself, and wish for spare hours to enjoy it at our own 
free will. 

But these spare hours are rarely found during the week, especially after we 
reach the ranks of juniors. Sunday is the day which we give to resting our 
bodies and improving our minds. Is not this just the day when we might well 
become acquainted with that part of the library which it is impossible for us to 
use during study-hours? Here are the choicest works of literature, the knowl- 
edge of which is certainly a great benefit to us all. And to many these books are 
not easily attained elsewhere. 

The objection may be brought that it would be an inducement to doing required 
work on Sunday. But if young women can be trusted to observe the Sabbath 
with all their text-books in their own rooms, is it likely that they would go to the 
library to study ? Can we imagine having our text-books locked up over Sunday ? 

Then there is the objection that attendants and domestic girls would be required 
on Sunday. There does not appear to be need for a librarian, for there is no 
book which it is essential for any one to find — if she cannot find one there are 
plenty of others which she is anxious to read. So this objection is abolished. 
Then with regard to the returning of the books which would be used. Cannot 
two or three girls be spared from other departments of work to do this on Mon- 
day morning? Surely the rest of us would be very willing to do the little extra 
work which would be unprovided for by the loss of these two girls. However, 


we are led to believe that there would be no difficulty in obtaining these girls, as 
a short time ago a member of the faculty was heard to remark that she was con- 
tinually racking her brains to provide sufficient work for her office-girls. 

So we plead, let the library be open on Sunday. If not for all day, from the 
close of church services to five o'clock. '95. 


It is when we are roused from our apathy by some such amusing account of 
Wellesley as the one recently perpetrated by the well-meaning Amy Robsart, 
under the auspices of the Boston Post, that we wish our college took more per- 
sonal pains to be represented in the newspapers frequently and with dignity. 
When we have read the detailed descriptions of a pillow-fight, a breakfast-table 
chatter, a purchase of roses, the appearance and dress of four professors, the 
workings of the jaws and diaphragms of an elocution class, and the flowers worn 
by junior debaters; and have learned with some surprise that "we are likely to 
hear the Wellesley cheer in the circumambient air any time we loiter in the pretty 
streets of the village, or wait at the station — at any time and without warning," 
we begin to yearn that an equal amount of type had been employed in registering 
the deep, steady throb of the college life, and in stating the urgent college needs, 
which, trite though thay maybe in our weary ears, have never reached the ears of 
men and women who have money to give. The world reads its papers, and the 
world's information regarding Wellesley or any other college is only too likely to 
be limited by what it there finds. '94. 


May it be allowed to an old student to say a word on this subject of " lights out 
at ten"? It is true that to the interested, enthusiastic worker ten o'clock comes 
on flying wings, and the evening is all too short. But I wonder if the girls who 
feel hampered by the rule realize its blessed effect upon their physical selves 
when they complain of its limitations to mental work. As a Wellesley student, I 
remember that that rule was troublesome, and the temptation to break it a strong 
one But as a worker in the world outside of Wellesley, I confess to having 
longed for the bondage to the bell again. 

We are not yet the ideal women we want to be, and few of us have strength of 
mind enough to voluntarily stop work at a reasonable hour. I speak from expe- 
rience. Four years spent away from Wellesley have convinced me that the aver- 
age woman would be less nervous, less highly strung, less irritable, far less likely 


to be a broken-down wreck when she should be doing her life's best work, if 
there were a "ten-o'clock bell" in the world that necessarily sent her to bed at 
its stroke each night. We live a tense, strained, eager, earnest life for fifteen 
hours daily at best ; it takes small calculation to see that the other nine are the 
minimum of needed rest. 

When college women have learned the highest lesson of self-control, they will 
be able to stop themselves when they should. Until then, do let them try to real- 
ize the blessing of a rule that gives them of necessity the rest they would not vol- 
untarily take. The Wellesley life is not a "grind " if one live it aright, — but it 
takes nine hours of sleep out of each twenty-four to prevent it from becoming 
such. It is a wise provision of the care-takers of Wellesley, — this "ten-o'clock 
bell." I think every student will some day feel, if she does not now, that this 
one, at least, of the college regulations has its roots deep down in the soil of the 
common weal, whence all true government springs. 

Mary Hollands McLean. 

The editor's table piled high with exchange magazines is a pleasant sight, for 
there is always something of interest to be found within the many covers. But 
there is one thing that detracts from the pleasure to be found in their perusal, 
and that is the difficulty of reaching the contents. We all admit the value of 
college magazines, but is it necessary that they be wrapped as tightly as an 
Egyptian mummy? We do not possess the omnipresent knife of our brothers, 
and so cannot cut our way through all obstructions. We hope our friendly 
exchanges will take pity on our fingers. The " Vassar Miscellany" for March 
comes to us with an unusually interesting table of contents. The opening arti- 
cle, "The Evolution of Mephistopheles," is very well written, and is, moreover, 
original in its presentation of the subject. The one story of the magazine, by 
Juliet W. Tompkins, is one of the best in our exchanges. "Taken from Life" 
is really amusing, without the straining for effect which so often characterizes 
the funny story. There is a spontaneity about it that almost leads one to believe 
that the title may be taken literally. The article entitled " The Harmony 


Society" is a very interesting description of the little communistic town of 
Economy, Pa. The verse of the month is very good. We clip the following : — 

The way was murky and black to see. 

Above, grim peaks rose bare and stark, 
But Psyche went freely and joyously, 

And as fair and frail as a dim moonbeam 

Did the slender form of the maiden seem 

Wandering lone through the shadowy dark. 

The wind stirred softly her misty hair, 

And she paused, half startled, with step unsure, 
Then looked, with such gaze as a child might wear, 

Through the gloom that mixed with the vapory skies, 
And ever hovered round brow and eyes 
Tremulous lights of a spirit pure. 

Ellen Dundas Chater, '94. 

Doris's Shoestrings. 
On Doris's feet 

Are the smallest of twos, 
But surely some elf 

Has enchanted her shoes. 
For wherever we go, 

If we walk, row or ride, 
In church or at tennis, 

Her shoes come untied. 

At times it is trying, 

But what can I do 
When poor Doris murmurs, 

"O bother that shoe!" 
So down I must flop 

In the dust and the dirt 
To tie up the shoe 

Of that dear little flirt. 

These precious girl-tyrants 1 

We cannot rebel, 
For even their ribbons 

Are filled with their spell, 
Since old-fashioned aprons 

No longer they use 
They tie a poor man 

To the strings of their shoes. 

J. W. Tompkins, '91. 


The prose articles of the " Wesleyan Literary Monthly" are especially good 
this month. " The Showman Instinct," by A. H. Espenshade, and " Matthew 
Arnold's Idea of Culture," by E. L. Thorndike are both very well written. Of 
the stones, " School-boy Tone," by Irville C. LeCompt, is the best. There are 
some fine bits of description in it, and the characters are sympathetically and 
clearly drawn. The sketches in " Bric-a-Brac " are above the average college 

The leading article of the " Harvard Monthly," " Recollections of Thomas 
Hill Green," by Charles P. Parker, is an interesting sketch of the great Oxford 
teacher. The short stories are more remarkable for their art than for delineation 
of character. The editorial discusses with ability the address of Mr. Irving to 
the Harvard students. 

The " Dartmouth Literary Monthly " is an alumni number and is full of interest 
from cover to cover. Perhaps the most valuable article is that by Professor 
Richardson on "Verse-Making." The stories are naturally few in number; "A 
Newspaper Item " is particularly good. We clip the following from the verse : — 


I saw one faring up the hills of Life 

Beneath a sultry noon-tide's blazing beams; 
His shield bore dents from many a field of strife, 

His rusty mail was gashed in gaping seams. 
He walked alone, a pilgrim staff for spear, 
Nor called for help, believing none would hear. 

I saw him once again far up the height; 

Upon his staff a pennon fair unfurled, 
His peerless brow was radiant with light, 

He moved in strength with thews to throw the world 
Before the victor fled his foeman grim, 
For he was mighty since Love walked with him. 

Ozora Stearns Davis, '89. 

The stories in the " Yale Courant" for March are well written, but are rather 
melodramatic and dismal in subject. Of the verse we like best : — 

The Redwing Blackbird. 

The redwing in the swamp is singing 

Upon a tall reed sitting, swinging, 




It sets my heart a-leaping for the woods 

and waters free; 
Now soft, now louder ringing, 

" Ur-da-Iee." 

" The Spring is coming warm again, 

The brooks are bursting with the rain, 

Come to the sunny meadows, and swing and 

sing with me; 
I am happy, happy, happy, 


Charles Gould Morris. 

A Magnolia. 

Stainless white petals! 

Corolla of snow! 
Gold in the center, 

All richness and glow; 
Bath for Titania 

Of crystalline dew, 
Couch to lull Oberon 

Under the blue. 

Cradle for humming-bird! 

Butterfly's nest! 
Fountain of nectar 

For honey-bee's quest; 
Goblet for Ganymede, 

Full of the wine 
Brewed by Aurora 

With fingers divine! 

Harold E. Buttrick. 

The college verse generally for this month is especially good, that of " The 
Bates Student" noticeably so. We would take from this magazine "The Rose 
Quartz," by W. G. B., if space permitted. 

We quote the following from " The University Beacon : — 

Violets! From crowded streets, 

Their tender perfume wafts my thought 
Back to the sweet spring lanes and woods 

Where violets are given, not bought. 


Violets! Ah, how my heart 

Holds in its closest corner yet, 
The memory of a golden day, 

That wakes at the breath of a violet. 


And this from " The University Cynic" : — 


With this new day, 

We who have been apart 

Will meet once more, and put away 

The bitter strife that bound us yesterday, 

Beginning all anew the old sweet way, 

Yet bearing deeply in our heart 

The memory of this smart, 

No more to stray 

Nor part, 


Q. E. D. 

The " Harvard Advocate" is interesting as usual. The sketches of the num- 
ber are very good, particularly " Pot-Boiling," by Henry Copley Greene, and 
" The Harvard Swing" by K. G. S. We take the following from the maga- 
zine : — 

" Jingles." 
the fate op a flirt. 

Ehododendron Rhodora 

Had lovers two, 
Honey-bee gay 

And Butterfly true. 
Flirt she was, 

It was sure amiss 
To allow Honey-bee 

That morning kiss. 

For the kiss was seen 

By Butterfly true; 
He flew away 

And Honey-bee too. 
Rhododendron Rhodora, 

Left alone, 
Sighed till the snow-flakes 

Ended her moan. 



that the world were upside down 

And all things wrong side up, 
Then would we merry little men 

Fill each his flowing cup. 

And, in the happy mellow wine, 

We merry little men 
Would turn the poor old twisted world 

All right side up again. 

Ralph Bergengren. 

QSooft (Rebte^g. 

Trinity Sketches. Ed : ted by George William Ellis, '94 ; Robert Louis 

Paddock, '94; DeForest Hicks, '95. 

This book, in its tasty covering of cloth, comes to us this month. It consists 
of short sketches of more or less merit taken from the Trinity Tablet, 1887- 1894. 
Some of the most pleasing selections are those which touch upon the college life. 
The number devoted to the pastel in style nukes us inquire whether the tendency 
to imitate this form is not too great, and something of freshness and origin lost 
thereby. Yet, as a whole, the book is interesting and enjoyable, and we give it 
a hearty welcome among the list of college publications. 


Katherine Lauderdale, by F. Marion Crawford, author of "Saracinesca,'' 
" Pietro Ghisleri," etc. 2 vols., i2mo. Cloth, $2.00. Macmillan & Co. 



JJoctefg (ttofes. 

March 17, Zeta Alpha held its regular meeting in Society Hall, the subject 

being Florence. 


I. History of Florence to the Times of the Medici . M. Louise Boswell 

II. Early Florentine Art — the Tendencies and Development, Mary Millard 

III. Dante — the Man, the Patriot, the Poet . . Alice Welch Kellogg 

IV. Song and Story with Petrarch and Boccaccio, Mary Williams Montgomery 

V. The Medici — their History to the Time of Lorenzo, Elizabeth Morris Wood 
Elizabeth Blakeslee, Charlotte Sibley, Alice G. Arnold, '91 ; Grace Grenell, '93 ; 
Cora Stewart and Flora Luther were present. 

The Shakespeare Society held its regular programme meeting in Shakespeare 
Hall, in the Art Building, on Saturday evening, March 17. Miss Lurena Webs- 
ter, '90, was present at the meeting. 

I. Shakespeare News .... 

II. Shakespeare's Use of the Supernatural 

III. Dramatic Representation. 

Macbeth. Act I., Scenes 1, 3. 

IV. Lady Macbeth. A Study in Character 
V. Dramatic Representation. 

Macbeth. Act V., Scene 1. 
VI. Talk. Macbeth as Typical of the Third Period, 
VII. Discussion : Do the Witches Actually Influence Macbeth? 

T , f Millicent Pierce 
Leaders < T ,-, 

( Jean Lvans 

The regular meeting of the Alpha Chapter of the Phi Sigma Fraternity was 
adjourned to March 14. It was the first meeting in the study of Representative 
Modern Dramatists, and Browning was considered as the representative drama- 
tist of England in this country. The following programme was given: — 

I. Browning's Dramatic Method . . . Gertrude Cushing 

II. Browning's Use of History in " Strafford" 

III. Song .... 

IV. The Tragic Element in " Pippa Passes " 

V. Music .... 

VI. Browning's Use of Humor in a " Soul's Tragedy " 

Dorothy Allen 
Mabel Wellman 

Grace Miller 

Helen Russel Stahr 

Lilian Brandt 

Helen Foss 

Mary Pitkin 

Marion Mitchell 

Edith Judson 


The Agora held an open meeting in the gymnasium Saturday evening, March 
17. Besides invited guests from the college, there were present delegates from 
the Wendell Phillips Club of Harvard, also Colonel Albert Clarke, secretary of 
the Home Market Club. The following programme was given : — 
I. Impromptu Speeches. 

The Bland Bill .... Helen Bisbee, '95 

Lord Rosebery and the Liberal Ministry . Sarah Weed, '95 

The Brazilian Revolution . . . Sarah Bixby, '94 

II. The Senate. 

Petitions, memorials and reports. 
Discussion of the Wilson Bill : 

Democratic — Cecilia Dickey, '95; Mary Whiton Calkins, Clara 

Benson, '95 ; Bertha Jackson, '94. 
Republican — Stella Osgood, '94, Julia Burgess, '94, Annie Peaks, 
'96, Abigail Laughlin, '94. 
At the meeting of the Classical Society, held April 7, the following programme 

was given : — 

Period of the Renaissance. 
I. Character of Times and Causes for Movement . Jeanette Moulton 

II. Michal L'Angelo and His Work . . . Ida Brooks 

III. Renaissance Castles ..... Lilian Quinby 

IV. Classic Influence in Modern Europe as Seen in Italy 

and in France ..... Blanche Thayer 

V. Ancient Art as Influencing Modern American Architecture, Annie Chute 
On Saturday evening, March 17, the Art Society held its first meeting in its 
new home in the Art Building. The occasion partook somewhat of the nature 
of a house-warming, as none of the members except the furnishing committee had 
been permitted a preliminary peep at the room. The early part of the evening 
was spent in examining the fresh appointments and in mutual congratulation, 
followed by the presentation of the prepared programme. Afterward, tea was 
served, and the remaining time given to social enjoyment. The programme was 
as follows : — 

Outline of French History from 1 S48 . . . Alice Norcross 

Corot .....-• Effie MacMillan 

Daubigny ....... Jane Williams 

French Dramatists — Dumas his, Victorien Sardou and 

Emile Augiet ...... Harriet A. Friday 


The members of the Art Society announce a change in the name of the society. 
The present name is not distinctive enough, and therefore it has been decided to 
adopt the name Tav Zeta Epsilon. The aims of the society remain the same. 

Coffege (Uofcs. 

Dr. Washington Gladden addressed the members of the college Thursday 
evening, March 8, his subject being " True Socialism." 

A lecture by Mrs. Candace Wheeler was announced for Monday evening, 
March 12, but was postponed on account of the illness of Mrs. Wheeler. 

The students at the Lovewell Cottage in the village gave a reception and 
musicale Saturday, March 10. 

On Saturday evening, March 10, Professor Palmer of Harvard lectured in the 
chapel, on the " Sonnets of Shakespeare." After the lecture a reception was 
held in the faculty parlor. 

On Sunday afternoon, March 11, Professor Palmer gave a talk before the litera- 
ture classes. His subject was " George Herbert." 

The regular monthly missionary meeting was held Sunday evening, March 11. 
Miss Agnes Lord addressed the meeting. 

On the evening of February 22, the inmates of the Simpson Cottage gave » 
dramatic representation of the Ruggleses, from the " Bird's Christmas Carol." 

The Zeta Alpha Society gave a reception, March 17, to the members of the 
other college societies. 

Professor Brown of Emerson School of Oratory gave a reading before the 
elocution classes recently. 

Professor Sedgwick of the Institute of Technology lectured to the sophomore 
physiology classes March 14, on the subject of " Bacteria." 

Several amendments to the constitution of the Wellesley Magazine were 
adopted, recently, at a mass meeting of the students. 

Miss Whiting gave a reception to the students in her department Saturday 
evening, March 10. 

Rev. C. A. Dickinson of Berkeley Temple, Boston, preached in the chapel 
Sunday, March 18. 

The Glee and Banjo clubs will give their concert Monday evening, April 16- 


Miss Denio gave a small reception Monday evening, March 12, lor the students 
living at Simpson. 

At the request of Colonel Clark, secretary of the Home Market Club, the 
principle arguments given in the senate held by the Agora on Saturday evening 
of March 17, were published in the Home Market Bulletin. The college will be 
proud to know that one of its members, Miss Gail Laughlin, has been offered 
fifty dollars for her speech on the tariff, to be printed in pamphlet form and used 
as an educational document on the tariff question. 

A meeting of the Christian Association was held Sunday evening, March 18. 
Reports were given by the delegates from the college who attended the recent 
convention of student volunteers in Detroit. 

The class of '96 have given us another opportunity to praise their good sense. 
They instituted a new order of procedure at the time of the freshman elections, 
and no attempt at hazing was made. Instead, the newly elected president and 
vice-president of '97 were invited to meet the president of '96 at an informal tea. 

The freshman class chose the following officers at their recent elections: 
President, Elizabeth Evans; vice-president, Denison Wilt; recording secretary, 
Helen M. Goidon; corresponding secretary, Caroline Davis; treasurer, Amelia 
Hickenlooper ; historians, Bertha Trebein, Florence Painter ; factotums, Blanche 
Currier, Florence Bennett ; executive committee, Edith Howland, Geneva Crumb, 
Minnie Miller. 

The freshman class are preparing for athletics in the spring. Two class crews 
and two basket-ball teams have been appointed and will begin their work out- 
doors very soon. 

On Saturday afternoon, March 17, Fraulein Muller and Fraiilein Beinhorn 
gave a song recital in the chapel for the German classes. Many of the German 
folk songs with which the students had become familiar in their study were sung. 

Prof. William R. Thayer of Harvard lectured in the chapel Tuesday, April 3, 
his subject being Louis Kossuth. 

It is proposed to publish the college calendar hereafter in the fall term, instead 
of the spring term as heretofore. No calendar will be published this term, but a 
circular containing the entrance requirements for 1895, and other information 
which may be needtul before the issue of the next annual calendar, has been 
prepared. > 


One of the finest concerts of the year was given in the chapel Monday evening, 
March 19. The concert was a song recital by Mr. Max Heinrich. 

Miss Mary Young, '93, Miss Elizabeth Blakeslee, '91, Miss Marion Wilcox, 
'93, Miss Helen Eager, '93, Miss Lurena Webster, '91, and Miss Maria Kneen, 
'93, have visited the college recently. 

College closed Wednesday, March 21, for the short Easter vacation. Very 
few of the students remained at the college during the vacation. The new term 
began Tuesday morning, April 3. Nearly every student was in her appointed 
place in chapel on that morning. 

$fumnae Qtofes. 

On Washington's Birthday, Miss Katherine Horton, '89, entertained a party of 
Welleslev friends at her home in Windsor Locks. The alumnae who enjoyed 
Miss Horton's hospitality were Mrs. May Ely Mitchelson, '88, Miss Carrie 
Emerson, '88, Miss Florence Fisherdick, '89, Miss Helen MacGregor Clarke,' 90, 
Miss Louise Danielson, '91, and Miss Caroline S. Eveleth, '93. There were 
present, besides, Miss Clara D. Capron and Miss Minnie Webster, members for 
a time of the classes of '8j and '92 respectively. After full justice had been done 
to a dainty lunch and some time had been spent in a social manner, a business 
meeting was held. It was decided to form a club, to be known as the Connecti- 
cut Valley Wellesley Club. Miss Horton was elected secretary and a committee 
consisting of Misses Emerson, Capron and Horton was appointed to make 
arrangements for the next meeting of the club, which will be held in Hartford, 
Saturday, June 2. All Wellesley students, past and present, who live within a 
convenient distance, are cordially urged to be present at this meeting. Any one 
desiring to secure further information or to identify herself with the club now 
forming, may do so by communicating with Miss Katherine Horton, Windsor 
Locks, Connecticut. 

Miss Carrie E. Small, '75*'7^' has been chosen principal of the Woodward 
institute for girls to be founded at Quincy, Mass , and endowed by the bequest 
of $300,000 from the late Dr. Woodward. She is now principal of the high 
school in Plymouth, Mass., and president of the Plymouth County Teachers' 


Mrs. G. F. McKibben, '75"'77> is not teaching, as announced in the March 
number of the Magazine. Mrs. McKibben has four children and lives in Gran- 
ville, Ohio. 

The address of Anna Phillips Lee, '86, is Mrs. Edwin Lee, Hotel San Carlos, 
69 South Oxford street, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Harriet L. Merrow, '86, is graduate assistant in botany at the University of 
Michigan. Her address is 46 East Ann street, Ann Arbor, Mich. 

Isabelle Darlington, '86, has been in Kansas City during the winter, in charge 
of the business of her father located there. 

Miss Reed and Miss Williams, '93, were the guests of Miss Margaret Doolittle 
in the holidays. They have returned to Granville Female College, where they 
are teaching. 

Miss Emily Foley, '93, is studying vocal music. Her address is Mt. Auburn 
Hotel, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Miss Marion Lutz, formerly of Wellesley, '93, has been visiting in St. Louis. 

Miss Maude Nias has returned in good health from an extended trip through 
the West to her Wellesley home, Stone Hall. 

Miss Sarah J. Storms, '83-'85, is studying at Harvard Annex. 

The engagement of Miss Harriet L. Hitchcock, '87-'89, to Mr. Irving S. 
Tinker has been announced. Miss Hitchcock's address is Plainville, Conn. 

Mrs. Stevens, Sp., '88-'89, who has spent the last four years abroad, is now 
teaching German in the Norwich Free Academy, Norwich, Conn. 

Dr. Mary B. Damon, '86, is the resident physician at Smith College, and head 
of the department of physiology and hygiene. She has also a large private 
practice in the town. She spent the opening days of the term at college. 

Miss Charlotte T. Sibley, '91, is the C. E. editor of "The Word and the 
Work," published in Belfast, Me. Miss Sibley has also given a number of lec- 
tures and addresses during the year. Among her lectures is an illustrated one on 
"Castles of England and Scotland," and another in "The Great Parliament." 
Miss Sibley is also working for her M. A. in Greek. 

Miss Ada M. Woolfolk, '91, is now at Denison House, 93 Tyler street, Boston. 

Miss Eleanor Green, '92, is visiting in New York and New Jersey. 

Mrs. M. E. B. Roberts Smith has been appointed associate professor of eco- 
nomics at the Leland Stanford University, Palo Alto, Cal. 



Miss Maude R. Keller, '92, is spending part of the month of April in Chicago. 
Her address while there is 5425 Washington avenue. From Chicago she expects 
to go to Saltillo, Mexico. Her Mexican address will be Apartado, 91, Saltillo, 
Mexico, care Miss Edna Johnson. 

Miss Josephine Emerson, '92, has been teaching in Assinnippi, Mass., as sub- 
stitute for Miss Theodora Hastings, a former Wellesley student, who had been 
ill all the term. Miss Hastings hopes to resume her work soon. 

Miss Elinor E. Ruddle, '93, spent Easter with Miss Florence Hoopes, '93, in 
Philadelphia. Miss Ruddle with Miss Hoopes then visited their classmate, Miss 
Delarue K. Howe, in Roselle, N. J. 

Miss Charlotte Irish, '93, has been traveling in California since February. 

Miss Emma McAlarney, '92, and Miss Roberta Allen, '93, have been visiting 
Miss Sue Lum. 

Miss Florence Tone, '93, is teaching at her home, Bergen, N. Y. 

Miss Caroline Fiear, '93, is taking economics at the University of California 
in Berkeley, near her home. 

Miss Carol Hough, Special, '9i-'93, is studying vocal music in New York. 

April 14 
April 15 
April 16 
April 21 
April 22 
April 23 
April 29 
April 30 

Coffege guffefin. 

Lecture. Col. T. W. Higginson. 

Dr. M. E. Woods preaches in the chapel. 

Glee Club Concert. 

Lecture. Mrs. Robertson. 

Rev. E. T. Tomlinson preaches. 

Lecture by Mr. Hamilton Mabie. 

Prof. H. A. Frink preaches in the chapel. 



3n QlUmoriam, 

A few weeks ago a beloved classmate, Mary Houghton, passed from our midst 
to go to a brighter home. It is difficult to realize even now that she is not with 
us. She came back from the holidays tired out, but determined to do her best 
in all that she undertook. She acknowledged she was not so well as usual, but 
brightly told us she was getting better. When compelled by weariness to stop 
her studying, she still insisted each day that she felt better than on the day before. 
But her languor increased, and the doctor said she must go home for a while to 
get rest and quiet. She finally went away, and we heard nothing from her for 
some time. Then came the news of a serious illness, but also of almost certain 
recovery. Finally, on Monday morning, February 26th, a letter was receivep 
saying she had died. 

We could not realize that Mary was no longer living. We had known her so 
short a time, had not had time to appreciate her full worth ; surely she must 
come back. The friends of her former Western home had not seen her since 
she was a child. Her old classmates in the Newton High School knew nothing 
of her illness, until news was brought them that she was dead. 

But she is very happy now. She was almost too kind and patient to be with 
us long. Those of us who knew her best can never forget her sweet, helpful 
ways. Whenever we were in trouble, we were always sure of kindly, good 
advice from her. One of her earliest characteristics was that of taking the part of 
the most unpopular, and pointing out her best qualities. At home, in the class- 
room, everywhere, she lived the best and noblest life she knew. No duty was so 
disagreeable as to be shirked. Her sweet and modest ways gave no knowledge 
she was near. Her presence was as the first breath of spring : when it comes we 
are happy, we know not why ; there is new fragrance in the air. Her spirit still 
lingers with us. May it help us live better, purer lives, to be more like what 
she would have us be. H. D. 


Whitlock— Drake. On Jan. 3, 1894, Miss Lillian M. Drake, '86-'87, to Mr. Elliott H. 
Whitlock. Mrs. Whitlock's address is South Orange, New Jersey. 

McCullough — Willis. At Newark, N. J., Feb. 21, 1894, Miss Annie Isabel Willis, to 
Mr. William Alfred McCullough. 


December 7, 1893, a daughter, Margaret Ruth Davidson, to Mrs. Anna Broadwell 
Davidson, '86. 1525 Adams Ave., Scranton, Pa. 

December 10, 1893, a daughter, Margaret, to Mrs. Emma Mead Wright, '80, Water- 
town, Mass. 

February 18, 1894, a daughter, Celia, to Mrs. Minnie Prentice Goodwin, '89, Pitts- 
field, Mass. 


In Wellesley Hills, Mass., Mar. 16, Mrs. Abby Hastings Fiske, mother of Ellen Ware 
Fiske, '92, and Isabella Howe Fiske, '96. 

April 7, 1894, at Germantown, Philadelphia, Pa., Christine A. Groff, mother of Sarah 
H. Groff, '89. 

ameson Al 4\nowles Company, 

Importers and Retailers of 


IS Winter Street. 


Special attention given to young people's Fancy 
Dress Shoes. 

The only house that presents illustrated Cata- 
logue. Send for one. 

The Best College Discounts gi\en. 

H. H. Carter & Co., 

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Your attention is called to our stock of 


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Marble and Iron Clocks, $6.00 to $20.00. 

Stock In all departments always complete. 

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CLASS PINS designed and manufactured to order. 

PARASOLS and UMBRELLAS made to order, re-covered and repaired. 

Gloves and Veiling. 

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Calls the attention of the Young Ladies' to her stock of Kid, Undressed Kid, and Dog Skin Gloves 

that are suitable for all occasions. Also her very becoming stock of Veilings, and solicits 

their patronage, and will give to any of the students 6 per cent, discount. 



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This Hotel is centrally located near business 
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Two fiirst-class Cafes in Hotel. 



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Physicians' Prescriptions a Specialty. 

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in the various departments of learning. Operates in all the 
Southern and Southwestern States. Write for terms. 


First Glass Through Gar Hoate 

To tli© West. 

Through Trains Leave Boston as Follows : 

8.30 a. m. (ex. Sunday) Day Express. 
11.00 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. in. (daily) Chicago Limited. 
7.15 p. ni. (daily) Pacific Express. 

Springfield Line 


Hartford, New Eaven and New York. 




0.00 a. in. 

(ex. Sunday) 

3.30 p. m. 

11.00 a. in, 

(ex. Sunday) 

5.30 p. in. 

4.00 p. m. 


10.00 p. m. 

11.00 p. m. 


7.40 a. m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., 
apply to nearest ticket agent. 
A. S. HANSON, Gen'l Passenger Agent. 

Fine Carpets. 

The finest line of specialties In 

Axminsters, Wiltons and 
Brussels Carpets 

ever offered by us. 
These are all our patterns, with a full line of the 



arpets . '. and . *. Mamrnersmitr) . '. I\ua: 



163 to 169 WASHINGTON ST., 





Discount to Wellesley Students. 

walnut hill 
Wellesley * Preparatory, 




Thorough preparation for Wellesley and other colleges 
for women. 

References :— Pres. Shafer, Wellesley College, 
the Misses Eastman, Dana Hall, and others. 

Circulars on application. 

Miss Charlotte H. Conant, B.A., | p • ■ 
Miss Florence Bigelow, M.A., j l rmcl P a ls. 







American Colleges. 

Illustrated Catalogue and 
particulars on application. 


ii John Street, New York. 

t ©egigncr anb QJlafter * 

Society Badges, 
Fraternity Pins, 
Rings, Emblem 
Jewels of every 

MFD&l 9 TROPHIES for Presentation, from 

niuuni.\t original and artistic designs. 

lA/UCU you want anything in above line, will 
rviiL.ii esteem it a favor to submit special designs, 
with estimates, or answer enquiries by mail. 

We send design plates FREE upon request. 

Wellesley Pins can be obtained from Miss Florence 
Tobey, Business Manager of Magazine. 


©ana JfyM ■> £c$oof, 

Wellesley, Mass. 

Pupils are prepared for regular or for special 
courses at Wellesley College. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Price for Board and Tuition, #500 for the 
school year ; tuition for day pupils, $125. 

Fcifmlher information address the Principals: 

Julia a. Eastman 
Sarah P. Eastman 


Furniture Manufacturers 

and Upholsterers. 

Washington and Elm Streets, 


No. 20, Ladies' American Club, 

per pair, $1.60 

No. 21, Ladies' American Club, 

Nickel-plated, per pair, $2.00 

No. 22, Ladies' American Club, 

Nickel-plated, per pair, $2.60 

No. 24, Ladies' American Club, 

Nickel-plated, extra fine, $3 80 

Snow Shoes, Toboggans, etc. 


15 Per Cent. I Discount to 
Wellesley Students. 


344 Washington Street, near Milk, Boston. 
After Washing. 

Witch Cream. 

It softens, feeds, beautifies the skin. 
Protects the complexion. 

For sale by all druggists, 25 and 
50 cent bottles. Small size by mail 
35 cents. 

C. H. & J. Price, Salem, Mass. 

Lillies of the Valley. 



Opposite Railroad Station, Wellesley. 

Ordered Work a Specialty. 

Paotory at Eait Cambridge. 

Cut Flowers and Plants of the Choicest Varieties on 
hand. Floral designs for all occasions arranged at 
shortest notice. Orders by mail or otherwise promptly 
attended to. Flowers carefully packed and forwarded to 
all parts of the United States and Canada, 

Wight Foster & Co. 




Young Ladies in want of Furs will find it to 
their advantage to call and see the new styles in 
Furs and to have repair work done. 




Finest Quality. Exclusive Styles and Textures. 

$3 to $20. 

Rubber Boots and Shoes. 

Druggists' Sundries and Umbrellas. 

Rubber Goods of Every Description. 

College Discount 10 per cent. 

Metropolitan Rubber Co. 

Cleve & Krim. 

49 Summer St. 

4 doors below C. F. Hovey & Co. 


Unconditional Guarantee accompanies each Rapid Writer Fountain Pen. 
Circulars free. FOUNTAIN PEN CO., Washington, D.C. 

Call on our representative for Wellesley College, Mary Ella Chapin. 

Only $3sNew York 

VIA FALL RIVER LINE for first-class limited 
tickets. Fares reduced for all points beyond New 
York. Steamers Puritan and Pilgrim in com- 
mission. Pullman Vestibuled Express Trains 
composed of parlor and regular passenger cars, 
leave Park Square Station, Boston, week days at 
6.00 P. m., Sundays at 7.00 p. m., connecting with 
steamer at Fall River in 80 minutes. A fine or- 
chestra on each steamer. Tickets, staterooms 
and berths secured at 3 Old State House, cor. 
Washington and State Sts., and at Park Square 

J. R. KENDRICK, Gen'l Mgr., Boston. 

GEO. L. CONNOR, Gen'l Pass'r Agt., Boston. 

H. L. PALMER, Agt., 3 Old State House, Boston. 

The New England Bureau of Education. 

Reasons why this Bureau has gained and de- 
serves the Confidence and Patronage of so 
large a Constituency of Teachers and 
School Officers all over the Nation. 

(1) Because it is the oldest Teachers' Agency in New England, 
having been established in 1875. 

(2) Because its Manager for the last twelve years is a profes- 
sional educator, and has become familiar with the conditions 
and wants of every grade of schools, and the necessary qualifi- 
cations of teachers. 

(3) Because the number of our candidates is large and em- 
braces many of the ablest teachers, male and female, in the 

(4) Because all applications for teachers receive prompt and 
careful attention, 

(6) Because our pledges for fair dealing and devotion to the 
interests of our patrons have been redeemed. 
Wellesley graduates are in demand at this office. 
Forms and circulars sent free. Apply to 

HIRAM ORCUTT, manager, 

3 Sonefaat St., Boston 


iTyeeliceu feolleq 


e>ir)0:r) s 


Session '93 -'94 opens October 1st, 1893- Three years Graded Course. Instruction by Lectures, Clinics, 
Recitations and practical work, under supervision in Laboratories and Dispensary of College, and in U. S. 
Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of the City Hospitals and Dispensaries open to Women Students. 
For Catalogues, etc., address 


321 East l$th Street, New York. 


She: When we got our wheels 
last year we didn't suppose there 
could he any better ones, did we ? 

He: No, but the '94's are ahead 
of them. They are better accommo- 
dated to the different heights of 
riders. They are lighter because 
of the new Columbia seamless tub- 

She: The saddles are more com- 

He: And stronger, too. And 
these guards and break work will 
never let you catch your gown. 

She: Do you know what my 
gown is ? The Columbia Bicycle 
habit. Redfern of New York de- 
signed it for the company, and it 
is just the thing. 


aud instructor in riding. Free in- 
struction to purchasers. All orders 
promptly executed. Catalogues free 
on application. 

Wellesley College, Wellesley. 

THE ATTt-NTION of students is called to our unrivalled line of 



NIGHT LAMPS, and that latest and daintiest of Parisian devices, the PRINCESS' "LAMP. 


manufacturers and importers, 
523-525 Washington Street. 

Opposite R. H. White & Co.'s. 

In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Pro- 
fessors and Students a discount, generally 

10 per cent. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home would be 
glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies to erery 


Tremont Street and Temple Place - "-'-"" BOSTON. 

Gbas. W. |tan 

The Senior Class Photographer 

Of Wellesley College. 
Studio^sa— ____ 

392 Boylston Street, 

Boston, Mass. 


BtmEM o» ess // ,4 <* Tremont 8t 
Bkmoway, k. v. f BOSTON 

Pure, Fresh and 

Would aunouuce to students of Wellesley College that photo- 
graph lists of the Faculty and Officers of [said College, as well 
as the senior students themselves are supplied upon request. 
Any students desiring to sit at Boston studio are given same 
rates as if made at Wellesley. 

A Choice Selection of Fancy Baskets, Boxes and 
Bonbonnieres constantly on hand at very reasonable 

Mail Orders given Prompt Attention.